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“W-wedding preparations?” Suletta asked, her timid voice emerging halfway to a squeak as she hovered at Miorine’s side. As usual, her stooped posture made her appear to be shorter than Miorine, even though the reverse was true.
Miorine didn’t look up from her computer monitor. The warmth of the other girl’s presence tickled her awareness. If she reached out, she could touch Suletta and find out what her skin felt like, whether it was soft or callused or in between. Miorine, however, refused to show any such vulnerability. Especially if there might be an audience.
In theory, Miorine was deciding on the most effective (not cost-effective, most effective) liquid fertilizer for her beloved tomatoes. What was the right balance of nitrogen to phosphorus? Did she trust fertilizer manufactured by a subsidiary of Jeturk Heavy Machinery, even if it had a 4.9 star review average? They were Jeturk Heavy Machinery, after all, not Jeturk Agricultural Technologies or Jeturk Chemical Engineering. Everyone knew that fertilizer led directly to spinoff applications in high explosives—
“That’s right,” Miorine said, suppressing a sigh. “Everyone expects it to be the event of the season.”
By “event” she meant “an opportunity for mean gossip.” Suletta’s meekness and terminal optimism irked Miorine for reasons she couldn’t put her finger on, and didn’t want to examine too closely. Every time the red-haired girl entered the room, Miorine wanted to stare her down, stare at every centimeter of that hunched, self-effacing figure, commit it to memory as though it were the last supernova—
But those same qualities only underscored how nice Suletta was. Miorine couldn’t imagine Suletta engaging with mean gossip unless she had simply failed to understand the context. Miorine didn’t trust this kind of naivety, which either didn’t exist in her world, or served as a cover for some nastier motive.
And yet, and yet—she wanted to believe that Suletta was real. That Suletta’s shy smile, which lit up everything around her, was real.
“C-can I invite my mother?”
This time Miorine did sigh. “I doubt she could make it in time, Suletta.”
Be nice, Miorine told herself, although jealousy squeezed her heart whenever Suletta babbled about her mother. How many times had Miorine bit back the words At least your mother is still alive?
It wasn’t Suletta’s fault Miorine’s mother was gone. Even in her cruelest moments, Miorine didn’t wish Suletta’s mother gone. All the same, hearing endlessly about Suletta’s mother this and Suletta’s mother that grew wearisome.
Suletta’s face fell. “I suppose that’s true.”
Miorine relented. “Everything will be recorded, but the budget will accommodate a photographer.” Her father, curse him, had a crony on staff, an angular woman who took old-fashioned photographs with old-fashioned equipment, darkroom and all. Miorine didn’t see the appeal, but perhaps that sort of sentimental nostalgic nonsense would intrigue Suletta.
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Just as Miorine had predicted, Suletta’s face became suffused with the kind of glow that any other girl would have produced upon being presented with a pony. “Yes, c-could we do that, Miorine?”
Miorine’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Already done.” Already done and forgotten, checked off the to-do list by which she ran everything, including—especially—her personal life. It perturbed Miorine that Suletta also had a to-do list, except it was full of trifles like “first kiss” and “eat a bento someone made for me.” It perturbed her more that she’d spent three hours that she’d never get back researching nutritionally balanced bento menus that included tomato and optimizing them to fit the kitchen space available to her.
The glow grew brighter. “Will we go dress-shopping together?”
Miorine’s fingers stilled. She canted her head to look at Suletta. The girl was mooning over her. Miorine wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
Be honest with yourself. You’re not sure how you want to feel about that.
“If you like.” Miorine shrugged. “You’re my groom, but you can dress however you please for the event, as long as it’s in good taste.” She hadn’t meant in good taste to sound so forbidding. Yet she was a Rembran, and as much as she hated her father’s strictures, she’d inhaled his admonishments on the importance of appearances until they were second nature.
*
This was how Miorine found herself at the tailor three hours later with Suletta in tow. The tailor was a closemouthed woman, the only kind, as Miorine had been known to remark, that her damnable father trusted. Closemouthed, but unquestionably competent, and surprisingly gentle in telling Suletta how to turn or lift her arms or stand still for the measurements.
“I love this one!” Suletta exclaimed, her eyes going round at the sight of all the fine laces and ribbons on one dress. Moments later, she’d say the exact same thing, the exact same delighted inflections, as her gaze alighted on one that featured decorative buttons and belts. Then the one made of pink taffeta, the velvet decorated with pearls, the form-fitting mermaid cut with tulip sleeves, and so on.
The advantage of bringing Suletta here and supervising her was that the tailor’s exquisite sense of style guaranteed that Suletta would only be offered suitable dresses. Miorine had her suspicions about what kinds of outfits Suletta would select if left to her own devices. Had the girl’s mother taught her nothing about fashion?
As for herself, Miorine had originally planned on wearing the same outfit she had when that ass Guel Jeturk became her groom. Take the path of least resistance. The more she watched Suletta trying on different styles with growing abandon, however, the more that plan dissatisfied her. Perhaps it would be better to signal—as her father would have termed it, damn his eyes—a change in management.
Suletta eventually narrowed her choices to three. The first was a dramatic midnight blue that made her tawny skin, bright hair, and blue eyes blaze with meteoric intensity. The second, by way of contrast, was a deceptively conservative ivory dress embellished with muted beige embroidery. The third—
“That one,” Miorine breathed in spite of herself.
The third dress was also off-white, but the embroidered details in festive red, especially the bodice—
“The color does not quite match Miss Suletta’s hair,” the tailor noted, “but that can be fixed.” She did not need to mention that there would be a hefty surcharge for the rush job; she was too discreet to say a word about that in front of Suletta. Besides, Miorine had already accounted for the cost in her wedding budget.
“But what about you, M-Miorine?” Suletta asked.
Miorine pointed at her selection, which was still on the dressmaker’s dummy. It had a bodice that matched the one on Suletta’s dress, although the cut was looser, taking advantage of the lighter fabric and creating flowing lines.
“That’s wonderful!” Suletta said. “But everything looks wonderful on you.”
Miorine was startled into smiling.
*
Miorine began involving Suletta with the rest of the wedding preparations, even though it went against her instincts. For years she’d learned self-sufficiency, the hard lesson that any power she had needed to be scraped and clawed away from the people around her. With Suletta, though…the more time Miorine spent with Suletta, the more she became certain that Suletta’s sweet nature was unfeigned.
“So that’s how you keep track of the schedule!” Suletta exclaimed after Miorine walked her through the latest spreadsheet.
“Spreadsheets and databases run the world,” Miorine said, trying not to be too smug. “If you master them, nothing can stand in your way.” Nothing but her father, anyway.
Suletta helped Miorine pick out a florist to handle the extravagant decorations for the wedding. A string quartet to play the wedding music, and a DJ for the dances. (They agreed that there was no way they wanted Shaddiq Zenelli for the job, despite his offer to do it for free. It was bad enough that he was the officiant.) The catering, making sure to account for the guests’ dietary restrictions.
The one part they didn’t have to worry about was renting a venue. By prior agreement, the wedding always took place in the same designated section of the Asticassia School of Technology, a dance hall overlooking the forest.
On the day of the wedding, Miorine was so preoccupied dealing with a last-minute catering crisis (there was always a last-minute catering crisis) that she lost track of Suletta. She fretted as she changed into her dress, wondering where Suletta had gone off to. Cold feet? she wondered, irrational as that was.
It would be the gravest insult for a groom to stand her up. But as the minutes ticked by, Miorine paced in the designated waiting room, unaccountably anxious. All her messages went unanswered. That was quite unlike Suletta.
On the other hand, how well did Miorine know Suletta anyway? Perhaps this whole affair had been another plot to humiliate Miorine. Perhaps Suletta wasn’t the awkward girl she pretended to be, but an agent from a rival corporation, and one possessed of superb acting skills.
The music swelled. That was the cue for her entrance. Let’s see what’s out there, Miorine thought grimly. She would make the most of it, whatever “it” turned out to be.
Miorine swept out the door, head held high. She couldn’t see the gathered crowd except as a blur of bright colors. Lights flashed in her eyes as the photographer snapped pictures, temporarily blinding her and leaving afterimages like fireworks in her field of vision.
You’re a Rembran. Don’t let them smell weakness.
Bit by bit her vision returned. As it did, Miorine saw Suletta walking toward her, escorted by her mother, Prospera Mercury. So that was why Suletta had been delayed. Miorine’s momentary qualms at Prospera’s disturbing smile evaporated at the sight of Suletta’s radiant face, the way Suletta was looking at Miorine and no one else.
"I-I'm sorry," Suletta mouthed, "but I wanted this to be perfect. For you."
It was the for you that disarmed Miorine. Suletta was playing for keeps. This marriage wasn't a game to her. Miorine blinked away tears.
Shaddiq Zenelli had, for once, worn clothes that covered his chest, for which Miorine was forever grateful. His own face was somber as he began to speak.
In times past Miorine had resented every moment of the ceremony. For the first time, she welcomed it. Suletta’s expression suggested she felt similarly.
“We are gathered here today to join the bride to her groom,” Shaddiq said in his sonorous voice. “Miorine Rembran, do you promise to cherish your groom, to honor and sustain her through her duels, from victory to victory, and to be true to her until defeat parts you from her?”
“I do,” Miorine said, her words ringing through the hall.
Shaddiq’s mouth had an ironic twist as he regarded Suletta. “Suletta Mercury, do you promise to cherish your bride, to honor and sustain her with your fighting spirit in the duels, from victory to victory, and to be true to her until defeat parts you from her?”
“I won’t be defeated!” Suletta blurted out, causing more murmurs to ripple through the crowd.
“Indeed,” Shaddiq said softly. “By the power vested in me as a member of the Dueling Committee, I now pronounce you bride and groom!”
The music swelled once again. But all Miorine heard was Suletta’s whispered, “M-may I kiss you, Miorine?”
Miorine answered without words, pulling Suletta to her in an unrehearsed maneuver. The camera's flash went off again and again. This time the fireworks were not limited to Miorine’s vision, but instead suffused her from the inside out as they kissed.