“Mother, you were eavesdropping?” Church chastises, but she waves him away.

“The children,” Dad begins, emphasizing that awful word in a way that only he could, “were discussing a trip to London over fall break. As you can imagine—”

“London? Oh, yes, we have a flat in Hyde Park. That sounds like a lovely way to spend break.”

I realize two things in that moment: Church’s mother is beyond nice, and she’s also beyond privileged. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word no.

“While I’m not opposed to Charlotte exploring the world one day, now just isn’t the right time,” Archie explains, finally turning and coming down the rest of the stairs to stand next to Mrs. Montague.

“If it’s supervision you’re worried about, David and I are more than happy to go with them. Charlotte will be well-taken care of. Now, look what I’ve brought for you.” She drags the zipper down on the garment bag and whips out a white dress, flashing it for the whole room to see.

“What … is it?” I ask, feeling my throat close up on a ball of raw emotion. I know perfectly well what that is.

“It’s your wedding dress!” Mrs. Montague says, draping it across her arms and holding it out to me. “It’s the same one I wore when I was seventeen years old.” She sighs and looks up at the ceiling, like she’s already caught up in a vivid daydream of David Montague as a young man.

“It’s bad luck for a groom to see the dress before the wedding,” Church says, looking slightly paler than usual. Elizabeth Montague waves his concerns away.

“That’s ridiculous. Your father and I picked this dress out together. We eloped to Paris with it.” She sighs again and fans her face. “Do you think you two might want to get hitched in London? We could borrow the abbey!”

“The … abbey?” I ask, noticing that Church is giving his mom a look similar to the ones I give my dad when he’s being completely over the top. Just, his mom goes over the top in a whole different way.

“Westminster Abbey,” she says, like duh. I choke on my own spit, forcing Spencer to rub and pat my back to help me clear my throat.

“I thought only royalty could get married there?” I manage to get out as Dad stands dumbfounded and speechless near the staircase.

“We have friends in high places,” Elizabeth says, and then she chuckles like it’s no big deal.

“Mother, that isn’t even a remotely realistic option,” Church begins, but she quiets him with a click of her tongue.

“Oh shush, Church. Here you go, darling. What do you think?”

She hands the dress over, and I take it reverently, staring down at the beaded bodice and then looking back up at her face. I’m dating her son, sure, but … I’m also dating four other boys. What the hell am I doing here?! Elizabeth looks so excited about the prospect of her son marrying me in this dress; she believes in old-school, love at first sight stuff. What happens if this doesn’t work out?

“Mrs. Montague …” Dad starts, looking at the offending dress like he’d rather burn it than watch me get married in it.

“Try it on,” she encourages, flapping gloved hands at me, and then reaching up to adjust her hat.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Church says softly. I lift my gaze up to him, and then pan it across the rest of the boys. They’re all just … staring at me. Everyone’s staring at me. Someone’s trying to kill me. How did I even get here?

“Of course she wants to,” Elizabeth says as I shuffle in the direction of the downstairs bathroom in a daze. Voices start up behind me as I slip into the restroom and close the door behind me, putting my back up against it. I flick the fan on, so I don’t have to hear what they’re saying.

“What am I doing?” I wonder, looking down at the admittedly beautiful sweetheart neckline of the dress. It’s white, sure, but when I tilt it into the light, there’s the faintest pink sheen to the shimmery fabric. It looks old, too, and not just Church’s mom old, but like an antique. If both her and my engagement ring came from the antique store, then did this, too?

Slipping out of my school uniform, I drop the dress over my head and stand staring at myself in the full-length mirror near the door.

The dress is fitted at the waist, with straps that start wide on the shoulders and taper in near the bodice. The beadwork on the top is delicate, twisting into floral motifs that swirl together across the front and sides, toward the back and the loose ribbons that hold the corseted back together. While the bodice is form-fitting, the skirt is full, a satin top layer over several layers of tulle.

Looking at my reflection is like looking at a stranger.

Where’s the bronze-skinned surfer girl? How about the dorky boy in glasses?

Instead, I find myself looking at someone completely different. And it’s not just the dress, is it? It’s just life, catching up to me.

Slowly, I push open the door and shuffle into the foyer.

Elizabeth slaps her hands over her mouth while my dad turns a shade of red that hasn’t yet been identified in nature. He looks like a vat of cranberry sauce.

“Charlotte,” Spencer breathes, his jaw tightening as he looks me over. “You’re beautiful.”

“So cute,” Ranger murmurs, closing his eyes against the sight, a slight pink color tinging his skin.

“You look … good, Chuck,” the twins say, blinking in surprise, like they’re not quite sure how to react.

The only one who stays silent is Church.

“Well, son, don’t you have something to say to your bride?” his mother chastises, giving him a very pointed look.

Those amber eyes are locked on my face, but I’m having trouble discerning what, exactly, it is that Church might be thinking. Is he disappointed in me? Do I look like the bride he’s always wanted? Why am I feeling so freaking self-conscious all of a sudden? Slowly, carefully, he opens his mouth to speak.

I cut him off.

“I … need to grab something,” I say, and Church pauses, giving me a curious sort of look.

“Grab something?” Spencer echoes as I move over to the door and slip my feet into a pair of rainboots. “What do you mean grab something? From where?”

“Just … from my room,” I say, fully aware that I’m not quite thinking clearly. If you’ve ever seen the movie The Proposal with Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock in it, you’ll get it. They have a fake engagement, and she runs. And she runs because she … loves him. That, and she doesn’t want to hurt his family.

“Charlotte Farren,” Dad warns, but I’m already pushing open the screen door and hiking the skirts up as high as I can get them. “What on earth are you doing?”

I start to run down the path, the wind blowing blond curls around my face.

“I’m Sandra Bullocking!” I shout as I zip past a cluster of other students, working on a mycology project—that’s fancy talk for mushrooms—and heading straight for the dorms. It’s midday, and there are people everywhere, so I’m not all that concerned about the stupid cult or their blood initiation.

I don’t stop running until I’m slipping into my dorm room and leaning my back against the door to close it. Only, it won’t close all the way because someone’s pushing their way in from the other side.