Unlike other weddings, it wasn’t the style of the bridesmaids’ dresses that caused a stir. The simple sheath dresses came with matching bolero jackets, for modesty and warmth, and showed enough cleavage and leg to tease but not enough to make Page 6, and, if sized properly, would look good on any woman no matter what her shape.
No, it was the bride’s color scheme that had her future mother-in-law speechless in that way that the bride knew meant she was trying not to laugh.
White. What was so wrong with white? Nothing by itself. Since the bride insisted she would be wearing the polar opposite she had thrown everyone’s assumptions out the window. For themselves, the bridesmaids were taking it in stride.
“At least it’s not sea foam. God, do you remember Jaime’s wedding?” one said at a brunch they held in secret.
Another snorted. “Barely. There were schnapps. Remember the one that was fuschia and gold? I looked jaundiced in all the photos.”
“But where am I going to wear a white dress?” moaned the youngest, who was just as happy to have missed the fuschia stage.
“Your own wedding, maybe,” replied the fourth who knew there wouldn’t be a wedding in her future without serious legislative work.
“Is that what she meant to do, give us a wedding dress? They are from the best designer,” said the one with the schnapps induced blackouts.
The fourth smiled in a way that made the others nervous. “Maybe we should just ask her.”