Rings and Roses Part 4: Dress

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Some girls spend their whole lives planning their weddings. By the time they found a husband, they knew the perfect venue and had picked out a dress. Thalia wasn’t one of them.

To her, marriage had been a duty, the same as any other responsibility children were meant to take on when they transitioned to adulthood. It was no different than washing clothes or cooking dinner. Any hope that she might marry for love had been crushed early on. What was there to look forward to about wedding a stranger?

But Sinbad wasn’t a stranger. He knew her intimately, knew every imperfection on her body— every scar, every hair, every wrinkle, every dimple. He’d seen her both bare and bundled up, and in every state in between. If she were in a sack or an evening gown, he would insist she left him breathless just the same.

Did she really though? Thalia had to wonder. How was it that after all this time, he hadn’t grown bored? There were no mysteries to explore between them, no surprises. Standing in the royal tailor’s work room being wrapped in measuring tape, she almost wished he was a stranger. After all, what did you wear to impress a man who’s seen everything?

“Sappho, how did you pick out your dress?” she asked her matron of honor. “You know Amaltheia will fawn over you no matter what you wear, so how did you choose one that would be special?”

Thalia ed her wedding, where both brides had been moved to tears upon seeing the other. She suspected Sinbad would never cry at the sight of her, but she did want him to be moved.

“I picked one that made me feel beautiful.” Sappho replied unhelpfully. ”There was a time when marriage seemed impossible for us. The dress was never important.”

Thalia sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just want him to look at me like it’s for the first time.”

“Like he doesn’t recognize you?” Sappho’s eyebrow quirked upward.

“No, like…” she raised her arms as the tailor measured her waist. “Like he’s just been struck with a love-spell. Like he can’t keep his hands off of me.”

“I fail to see how that’s any different from how he normally looks at you. Asena knows how many times I’ve caught him touching you shamelessly when he thought no one was looking.”

Thalia flushed, embarrassed. The most he ever did in public was let his hand drift a little too low on her back, but it seemed those private teases weren’t as discreet as she’d hoped.

“It won’t be the dress that takes his breath away,” Sappho continued. “It will be you— the joy in your smile, the adoration in your eyes, the trust you share. Those will be the things that make you beautiful, Thalia. Don't worry about Sinbad. Wear something that makes you happy.”

The tailor stepped back, finished with the measurements. “Have you decided what kind of dress you want, my lady?”

Sappho gave Thalia an encouraging nod.

Smiling, Thalia turned back to the tailor. She’d always felt regal in the clothing of here home country.“Are you familiar with Attican clothing? I’d like to design something like that, but a bit less restrictive.”

The tailor nodded. “Right this way, miss.”