Chapter Nineteen

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The weekend arrived, bringing with it an absence of Nick and Phoebe.

At first, Hazel considered sweeping the whole thing under the rug and forgetting about that letter. But she knew she couldn't do that. It continued to eat away at her thoughts, pestering her with the unknown contents.

After three years of silence, what was Marissa writing to Nick and Phoebe about?

So, Hazel welcomed the reprieve of the weekend. She didn't go to the Butler's house for breakfast. And there was no need to help Phoebe get ready for school on the weekends.

Besides, she had a bridesmaid dress fitting on Saturday that was likely to take up the entire day.

Sky's tearoom, Boiled and Brewed, was flooded with fabric. Russet oranges, rich golds, velvet rose reds.

"Hold still, Bryony," Hazel said, aiming her wand at Bryony's waist.

Bryony squirmed, holding up the front of her dress with both hands.

"I hate dresses," she grumbled. "And it itches like crazy."

"It's silk," Sky said. "How could it possibly itch?"

"Maybe because you won't let me finish up taking in these last few inches. You wear all those baggy clothes, I had no idea you were so lean."

Bryony huffed and slouched in place, resigning herself to her fate. With a flick of her wrist, Hazel gave her wand a flourish and the fabric that gaped at Bryony's back was spelled into place, neatly pleated and seams lying flat and smooth.

Hazel and Sky stepped back to survey the work of their spells. Bryony stood in the middle of Sky's tearoom in a dark gold and red gown that cinched tight at the waist, strapless to reveal her toned shoulders after years of climbing trees and working in the gardens, orchards, and greenhouses. The skirts flared out in a sunflower petal pattern, draping over her hips, swirling around her legs.

It was gorgeous.

But it wasn't right for Bryony Torres.

"I feel like a potato," Bryony declared.

Hazel held up her wand, the birch wood worn to smoothness beneath her fingers.

"Let's try a different style," she said.

Hazel conjured six different spells to rip out the stitches she'd put into Bryony's gown for the past hour. She altered the color of the fabric to a dark, pine green, like forests and moss, etched in silver thread to form falling leaves along the hemline of the sleeves that spread down to her knuckles, edged in Queen Anne's lace patterns.

Hazel tossed aside the skirt spells in favor for a pant suit spell. With a few more tugs of magic, she released the spells and stepped back to survey her work.

Bryony now wore long, elegant sleeves, fitted to her arms, with high waisted dark green pants that flared wide at the legs. When Bryony turned, silver leaves glinted and twinkled, as if they were drifting down her body, like she was a tree amid the forest.

"It's perfect," Sky said with a gentle smile on her face.

"Although it doesn't fit the color scheme we'd worked out for your wedding," Hazel said.

Sky shrugged. "I don't care. It suits Bryony. That's what matters."

She turned toward Hazel and flicked her wand toward the middle of the room.

"We should get started on your dress," she said.

"Thank god," Bryony said. "I can finally eat. I'm starving."

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