The final wedding…

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Corpse Bride, but sadly none of my wishes ever come true.

………

Emily was fourteen when she was a bridesmaid for the third and last time.

Unlike her two previous experiences, this wasn't a relative's, but her governess's. Alice had announced – rather apprehensively – that she was getting married to Emily's father's butler, a good man who had loved her for over six years, and was rewarded with a rib-cracking hug from her charge.

"I knew this would happen," Emily explained happily. "I've known you were in love for ages." She looked gravely at her governess. "Can I help plan the wedding?"

Alice smiled. "If you like, but don't forget you have to be my bridesmaid as well." Emily nodded brightly, and hugged her again, before running off, doubtless to tell her friends the good news.

Emily was a naturally reclusive girl, but over the years she had built up a group of girls whom she was close friends with, from relatives like the vivacious Emilie van Bora to daughters of her father's acquaintances such as Johanna Hellmann. She was close to everyone in the group, but was always perfectly happy alone. Alice felt a strange sadness as she watched the lithe teen sweep away down the oaken corridor. Soon she'd be leaving Emily's family, and she would miss Emily a lot.

Emily didn't seem to be thinking of the future much – her mind was entirely fixed on the present. She insisted on helping Alice plan the wedding, and sat with her on many cold, dark evenings discussing their ideas. Some of Emily's more flamboyant ideas – like decorating the church in drapes of white muslin and lace – were quickly dismissed, but Emily proved to have a flair for the elegant, and even Alice was surprised at her creativity.

Her father's reaction was typically silent, but no one had expected anything more. Emily tolerated her father, but she wished he would come out of his depression and gloomy state of mind. She felt desperately alone around him, and today was no exception.

"I trust you'll be wanting to dance off down to the town to get yourself a dress?" he enquired without looking up. He wasn't interested, either in the wedding or the answer to his question. But then again, he'd lost interest in everything a long time ago.

Emily nodded. "I think… I think I might not get it made by Beatrice this time?" she asked hesitantly. She knew her father approved of Beatrice – though how much that was to do with her skill or how much it was because Beatrice was her dead mother's favourite was hard to tell – but Emily preferred a kind of style that Beatrice disapproved of and went out of her way to modify Emily's requests.

The dreaded question: "What's wrong with Beatrice?"

Emily bit her lip, wondering how best to say it. "She… she doesn't like making the sort of clothes I like to wear, and I'd like to try someone else."

"Fine, if you can find someone," came the reply. Emily had won this, and although she wasn't sure how to find a new dressmaker – she'd never been particularly clothes-wise – Emilie van Bora was sure to think of something.

***

The bronze-haired girl stood outside a dark, imposing shop, her curls whipping around her in the wind. Emilie turned her head towards her younger cousin and grinned wickedly.

"Come on, then!"

Emily hesitated, then followed her friend into the dressmakers. Inside, the shop smelt of musk and darkness, with contrasted with the bright drapes of fabric all over the place. They looked like birds of paradise who had decided to lie down and sleep on the disordered shop.

A blonde looked scrutinisingly at them as they walked in, but she obviously knew Emilie from the way she gave her a small, tight smile.

"Miss Emilie – how good to see you again." She turned her sharp green eyes to Emily. "And who's your… friend?"

"Mrs Everdew, this is my cousin, Emily Luther," Emilie started cheerfully, oblivious to the instant dislike Everdew and Emily had struck up between each other, "and we're here for dresses for a wedding." She smiled dazzlingly.

As the stern seamstress disappeared off to "find some suitable fabrics", Emily turned to her friend in desperation.

"'We' need dresses? You're not coming to the wedding! Why did you say that?"

Emilie smiled. "Now I am. You know I never miss an opportunity for free wine. Shush, she's coming back." Mrs Everdew was indeed coming back, with an armful of pale rolls of fabric and a long-suffering look.

"What colour would you prefer?" she asked, in a way that made Emily feel that perhaps she would have been better off with Beatrice. Mrs Everdew was, in a word, terrifying, but Emilie dealt with her rather well.

"We haven't quite decided," she told her in her clear voice, "but the bride's dress is white with sort of very, very pale grey stripes in it, so we thought we'd leave it to the professional to decide what colours would suit the bridesmaids." Mrs Everdew was clearly flattered; she actually gave the girls a proper smile.

"Well, you can't go wrong with white, but perhaps a pale grey? To compliment the striped detail, you see."

"That sounds lovely. What kind of fabric have you got in mind?"

***

It was perfect. Of course it would be, with Alice as the beautiful bride, and Emily had never felt prouder to stand behind her governess holding her bouquet. Somehow Emilie van Bora had nominated herself to be the second bridesmaid, and her thick bronze hair glittered in the golden sun-dappled light. The eighteen-year-old had never looked more striking, but even she couldn't outshine Alice today. She outstripped Emily's scowling cousin Katherine by miles, and even Emily's aunt Alexandra, whom Emily had seen as the epitome of happiness.

Emily had never understood why people cried at weddings until now, when she felt her eyes prick as Alice said, "I do," smiling as if the world had just fallen into her lap.

The greatest highlight, however, had come at the reception. Emily had expected, in the absence of anyone else her age that she actually knew, that she and Emilie would spend the reception together, but as Emilie went off to get food for them, a tall blonde boy walked boldly up to her and gave her a radiant smile.

Emily frowned. "Do I know you?"

"I think so." His voice was soft and low. "We met a long time ago, but Emilie van Bora has told me a lot about you. I'm Barkis Bittern."

Emily felt her face grow hot. She did remember him, and she felt rather awestruck meeting him again.

He smiled again. "You look beautiful today."

"Thank you," she said. "I— I— you look amazing too."

He grinned "Thanks. So how old are you now?"

"Fourteen, and you?"

"A year younger than Emilie – seventeen. I don't think I know the happy couple, do I?"

Emily shook her head, her wavy hair falling across her face. "The bride is my governess."

"Oh? Wondered why I wasn't sent an invite. I thought they'd forgotten me."

"No one could forget you," Emily smiled. "But how did you get in?"

Barkis blew a blonde curl of hair away from his face. "Emilie told me about the wedding, and that I'd get to see you here, so I asked Father to help get me in and he must have sorted out something with your father, so here I am." he spread his arms out theatrically, and Emily couldn't help giggling. He looked ridiculous.

He sobered then, and looked more serious. "So how many weddings have you been the bridesmaid at since I've seen you?"

"Just one – Katherine van Bora's four years ago. That was where I met Emilie. Anyway, where is Emilie?" Emily craned her neck to look into the crowd.

"She agreed to leave us alone for a while. So you've always been the bridesmaid?"

Emily nodded, a little sadly. "Always."

Barkis's black eyes gazed intently into hers. "How would you like to be the bride for once?"

………

And what fourteen-year-old could resist our lovely Barkis's charm?

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