No, I didn’t find a dress, not like it matters. I realize that the only way to get Mom to listen is to talk louder than she is. I’ve got to stop this runaway train before the carnage gets any worse.

But it’s too late for that because as I’m about to open my mouth to yell out the truth, Mom’s next words hit me like a punch in the gut and set my heart racing.

“You know this couldn’t have happened at a better time, Vi. Your grandfather isn’t doing too well. I wasn’t sure he was going to get to see this moment, but you did it, Vi.”

“What’s going on? Did something else happen?” I demand as guilt snakes up my spine. I’d meant to check on Papa yesterday, but I got so caught up with work and the wedding stuff, I forgot. The thought that something horrible could’ve happened to him while I was busy with my own stuff is almost enough to break me out in hives.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Mom says reassuringly. “Hasn’t passed out since a few weeks ago, but the doctor said a few more of these faints . . . and he’s liable to pass out for the last time.” Even though we’ve discussed his mortality, and Papa himself has made all his wishes well-known, it’s still hard to hear anyone talk about him dying.

My heart twists in my throat at her words, and I curse Colin for his heartlessness. Couldn’t he have waited until we got married to drop me like a hot potato?

And how ridiculous is that? Even knowing what I now see about Colin, I’m still mostly disappointed that I’m going to disappoint Papa. Hell, I might even chance a short marriage and quickie divorce if I could make the old guy happy one last time and bring some peace to his last days.

How can I make this right?

A variety of solutions runs through my mind, one of which is going back to Colin and asking him to reconsider, but I immediately dismiss the idea.

I’m not crawling back on my hands and knees to someone who took joy in hurting me and cruelly wanted to see me cry. Even if I want to give this to Papa and am so desperate that I’m willing to jump through the hoops I have over the past few months, I’m not going to sell out my own self-worth. It’d be disrespecting Papa.

“Vi?” Mom asks, bringing me back to the present. She seems to finally notice something is amiss. “Is there something wrong?”

Before, I was ready to tell her the truth, even if it caused her distress. Now, I’m not so sure. I definitely don’t want it to get back to my Papa so soon after his passing out. Yet, at the same time, the people who have booked tickets to fly in need to be told there’ll be no wedding so that they don’t waste their money.

The stress of having to decide, weighing the truth against my family’s expectations and the shock of this morning’s unexpected twist, has my head aching.

But what other choice do I have? Honesty is the best policy.

But maybe I can tell her later? I reason. At the end of the day, after I’ve given it some thought and figured out how to make the news not hurt so much, I can be honest then.

But right now, the bad news can wait. Archie is standing on the sidewalk just ahead, two coffees already in his hands and his foot tapping, ready to head to our client meeting. Now is definitely not the time for this conversation with Mom.

Feeling like I’m setting myself up for the biggest letdown of the century, but also feeling like I have no other choice in the moment, I lie. “Everything’s fine, Mom.”

*

“Joanna Gaines ain’t got shit on me!” I exclaim to Archie as I finish fluffing out an ivory silk throw pillow and setting it down on the sofa for a finishing touch, then throwing my hands out wide as if to fully envelope the cavernous great room we’re standing in. “Ta-da!”

Archie, who initially said I was batshit insane for making such a cheery design for a client he termed ‘the handmaiden from hell’, gawks in disbelief as he scans the final product. A smile lifts his lips and he offers a quiet golf clap with a head shake.

“Brava! I don’t know how you do it, but you weren’t lying! It all came together in the end. You are a magician, and I, but your humble assistant. Ta-da, indeed.”

His accent sounds like some version of fancy British as he compliments me and bows to my greatness.

“Told ya!” I say with a wink, a surge of satisfaction running through me at a job well done.

The rush I receive completing my creation is the perfect antidote for the terrible news I received from Colin and the extra whammy from Mom this morning.

News I have yet to tell Arch or Abi.

The wound’s still too fresh, the shock too potent, and telling them right now after just looking at wedding dresses for ten hours, and still failing to find The One, may cause a breakdown.

Mine or theirs? Maybe both?

Which I refuse to do.

Right now, I just need to focus on my work and forget about all the negative things going on in my life. It’s admittedly a bit like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, but it’s the only way I’ll remain sane today. It’s one of the things I love most about my job. When I’m creating homes and spaces that uplift the spirit and inspire, I feel centered and at peace.

And I badly need to feel both right now.

I shove my dark thoughts aside and appraise my latest creation with a critical eye.

Fresh cream-colored paint adorns the walls with matching luxuriously welcoming furniture carefully staged around the room, while vibrant pastel colors provide the perfect contrast against the light-colored decor.