Tessa’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “How many dresses are they expecting me to try on anyway? There have to be at least a dozen there.”

Joanna gave her future daughter-in-law a reassuring pat on the arm. “That’s likely just the first batch, dear. I hope you aren’t expecting to settle on the first gown you try on.”

“I tried on over thirty dresses,” admitted Julia. “Though the one I eventually picked was one of the first ones I looked at.”

“You’ll know which one is the right gown for you,” assured Joanna. “Though as wonderful as you look in everything, it’s not going to be an easy decision to make.”

Tessa was thrilled that Ian’s mother was here with her this afternoon. In the absence of her own mother, Joanna was a more than acceptable substitute. And Tessa knew how pleased and flattered Joanna was to have been asked, especially since she had no daughters of her own, and hadn’t been invited along when Victoria and Selina had picked out their wedding dresses.

Tessa had been rather hesitant to bring up the subject during their visit to England last month, not sure if Ian’s parents would be able to schedule a trip to California on such short notice. But Joanna had agreed immediately, assuring Tessa that it would be both an honor and a pleasure, and that she would make the trip alone if Edward couldn’t go. But, as it turned out, he’d been more than agreeable, and they would be spending a total of ten days in San Francisco.

Tessa was also eager to get Joanna’s opinion while she was in town on some of the other wedding plans - invitations, flowers, the menu. Ian had given her carte blanche to make whatever arrangements she desired, having introduced her weeks ago to Zara, the wedding planner who would be helping them with all the details. And of course Ian had his own expert opinions about everything. Having spent his entire adult life working in the hotel industry, and having attended too many social events to even begin to count, it was to be expected that he would know a great deal about matters like catering and music and wines. Whereas Tessa’s own knowledge of such things had really only been acquired over this past year she’d been with Ian. She was more than happy, therefore, to accept his advice and ask his opinion about all of the decisions that would need to be made about the wedding.

Julia, too, had been extremely helpful, drawing on the experience of having planned her own wedding less than a year ago. But Tessa had still been more than a little wistful that she didn’t have her mother by her side to lend assistance. Though knowing Gillian and how flighty and moody she had so often been, she would likely have been more of a hindrance than a help. Tessa couldn’t help smiling rather sadly as she imagined some of the odd, decidedly untraditional plans Gillian would have dreamed up - everything from holding the ceremony in a meadow or under a grove of redwood trees, to finding some obscure verse of poetry to read, or convincing Tessa that she ought to choose a more vibrant color for her wedding dress, something like scarlet or purple instead of the more traditional white or cream.

Tessa shook her head, unable to imagine for even a minute how her mother could have possibly fit in with all of this - not just being in Neiman Marcus, surrounded by designer clothing and smartly dressed patrons, but the privileged lifestyle that Ian had always enjoyed, the sort that Tessa herself was finally becoming used to.

But then again, if Gillian hadn’t died tragically in the apartment fire, it was highly unlikely that Tessa would have ever crossed paths with Ian. She’d more than likely still be living with her mother, doing her best to take care of her and provide for both of them. She wouldn’t have moved to San Francisco or gone to work for the Gregson Group, and she certainly wouldn’t be here now about to try on a bevy of designer wedding gowns. Fate worked in mysterious ways at time, she mused. But since thinking about how different her life might have been if Gillian had survived that night only made her sad, she forced herself to stop dwelling on the matter.

“Sorry I’m late. My client was a few minutes late arriving for their massage. Hope I haven’t missed much.”

Tessa gave Sasha a quick hug as she entered the bridal salon. “Not a thing. They’re just bringing in the first selection of dresses for me to try on. Hopefully I find the perfect one quickly, so that we can focus on finding a dress for you and Julia.”

Sasha gave a small shrug. “There’s no rush, Tessa. My schedule is clear until my next class at six this evening. Take as much time as you need to find the ideal dress. Your wedding is going to be the most important day of your life, after all.”

“Thank you for being here,” Tessa told her earnestly. “I’m guessing that a store like Neiman Marcus isn’t exactly your thing. In fact, until Ian brought me here last year, I’d never been inside any sort of high-end store myself.”

“It’s fine,” Sasha assured her. “Even though wearing designer clothing isn’t really my style - as you’ve certainly noticed - that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beautiful things. My mother would be in her element in a place like this, though. Unlike me, she’s something of a clothes horse.”

Tessa regarded her friend curiously, for Sasha never really spoke about her family. She didn’t question her further, though, and instead introduced her to Joanna, Marlene, and Tracy, the bridal consultant. The three women seemed a bit taken aback to meet Sasha, who was certainly quite different in appearance than either Tessa or Julia, but also a strikingly lovely woman in her own unique way. Of medium height, she was slender and graceful, the easy way she moved a clear result of her years of both yoga and dance training. Tessa was used to seeing her in either yoga apparel or some sort of floaty, tiered peasant-style dress or skirt, her slim feet in sandals. Today, perhaps in deference to her surroundings, Sasha was more conservatively attired than Tessa could ever recall - a tan faux-suede maxi skirt, cream cable-knit sweater, and tan ankle boots. Her mass of corkscrew curls were half a dozen different shades of blonde, ranging from dark caramel to almost platinum, and almost overwhelmed her delicately boned face. Tessa knew that Sasha’s father was Spanish or Portuguese, and that she’d inherited her olive gold complexion from him. Sasha rarely bothered with makeup, but it looked like she’d done something subtle to her eyes today, and applied a clear gloss to her lips.

Sasha’s beauty wasn’t the sort that hit you all at once, like Julia’s did, for example. It was more understated, not as obvious, but the more you looked at her, the more you were tempted to keep looking. She never fussed with her appearance, didn’t seem to care a whit for what she was wearing, or how her hair looked, and Tessa figured that was a big part of her appeal. She was also the calmest, most serene, and gentle person Tessa had ever known, and being in her presence was almost a spiritual experience.