All week, Jack had been mysterious and tight-lipped, and he had hurried away that morning without telling her where he was going. Schuyler let him keep his secrets; she had her own surprise to plan. Even if theirs would be a simple ceremony, a world away from the grand occasion at the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York City that Mimi’s bonding planner had orchestrated, Schuyler still felt the intense and incredibly feminine need to make it special. She could not get bonded without a proper bonding dress. Her bank accounts were still untouchable—the Committee had seen to that—but Jack would not begrudge her the cost of a dress, she knew.
“What is your dream dress?” the doting saleslady asked in imperious Italian, glancing at Schuyler’s outfit with a critical eye, taking in the old Converse sneakers, faded jeans, and wrinkled men’s Oxford button-down. “Romantic? Classic? Bohemian? Sexy?” Without waiting for an answer, the dowager snapped her fingers, and soon an army of clerks marched a succession of wedding gowns into the dressing room, each more beautiful and more intricate than the last.
As a child, Schuyler had never spun sugarplum dreams about her wedding, had never staged ornate romantic fantasies that included the exchange of vows with a giggly girlfriend pretending to be the teenage heartthrob of the day. Weddings required elaborate preparation and grandiose plans. It was a day that promised to transform an ordinary girl into a princess, and Schuyler had never had particularly royal ambitions.
She tried on the first dress, with a lushly embroidered bodice and a ten-foot train. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she remembered all those Upper East Side bondings her grandmother had dragged her to. They were always the same: cookie-cutter brides in their exquisite lace gowns or oceans of tulle, the grooms interchangeable, dashing and confident in black tie. The ceremony itself, she realized now, was not dissimilar from a common Red Blood union with their long-winded speeches, the mandatory reading from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians (Love is patient, love is kind, weddings are boring), the exchange of vows and rings. Afterward, if the family still kept up with the ways of the Old Coven, the receptions were tasteful and restrained, the elegant crowd jitterbugging to the Lester Lanin Orchestra; if they were distinctly New Coven types, the parties would be bombastic and flashy, with nightclub singers and a camera crew documenting the whole bedazzled, glittering mess.
“No, this one is too busy for you, signorina,” the saleslady clucked, thrusting a different dress in her direction. This one was simple and backless, but when Schuyler put it on, she felt as if she were trying to be someone else. And on her bonding day she wanted most of all, to look like herself, only a little better.
Like many girls, she had taken it for granted that she would get married—one day—in the future—to someone. Didn’t everyone get married? But it had never crystallized into a real desire, or intent, or focus. She was much too young, in the first place. She had just turned seventeen. But this was no ordinary bonding, and these were strange times. Most of all, she had pledged her heart to an extraordinary boy.
Jack Force was more than she had ever dared wish for, and he was better than a dream or a fantasy because he was real. He was far from perfect, moody and distant at times, and burdened with a sharp temper and an impulsiveness that was part of his dark nature. But she felt more love for him than she thought possible. He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for her.
Schuyler allowed the helpful salesladies to talk her into trying on another dress, this one a tight strapless column with a row of minuscule buttons down the back. As nimble fingers latched every hook, she ruminated on how Jack’s proposal had been a surprise, even if she had expected it. She was unprepared that it had happened so soon, but she understood the urgency. They had precious little time together. In a few days he would leave to return to New York, to face his fate, and afterward she might never see him again. She tried not to dwell on her fears, and instead focused on the brief moment of happiness they would be allowed before they would be separated again.
As for the bonding itself, they decided to keep it a secret from the Petruvians at the monastery. They did not know if they trusted the priests, and it was not an event they wanted to share with strangers. Schuyler had only a hazy idea of what Jack had planned. He had mentioned something about an old church in a far corner of the city, and a ceremony by candlelight. That was all she knew, except that there would never be a better time or place for this moment. It was all they had.
“Bellissima!” the sales team cooed as Schuyler apprised herself in the mirror. The dress hugged her in all the right places, and it was stunning.
However, it was not quite right. It was too formal somehow. She shook her head sadly. She thanked and hugged each of the saleswomen and exited the shop empty-handed.