The Secret Wedding Dress. Ally Blake

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      For Deb.

      For your imagination, your encouragement, your friendship.

      And for the bit about the lift.

      CHAPTER ONE

      PAIGE DANFORTH didn’t believe in happily ever afters.

      So it was a testament to how awesome a friend she was that she stood freezing her tush off outside a dodgy-looking Collingwood warehouse in the grey half-light of a misty Melbourne winter’s morning with her best friend Mae who was there to buy a wedding dress.

      Wedding Dress Fire Sale! Over 1000 new and used dresses, up to 90% off! read the massive hot-pink banner flapping dejectedly against the cracked brown bricks of the old building. Paige wondered if any of the other women in the line, which by that stage snaked all the way around the corner of the block, saw the irony of the hype masking the depressing reality. By the manic gleams in their eyes they all bought into the fantasy, for sure. Each and every one of them convinced they were the ones for whom the love songs and sonnets rang true.

      ‘The door moved,’ Mae whispered, grabbing Paige’s arm so tight she knew it would leave a mark.

      Paige lifted her long hair out of the way so that she could loop her thick woollen scarf once more around her neck and stamped her boots against the pavement to get her sluggish blood moving. ‘You’re imagining things.’

      ‘It jiggled. Like someone was unlocking it from the inside.’ Mae’s voluble declaration spread up and down the line like wildfire, and Paige was almost pushed over in the sudden surge of bodies.

      ‘Relax!’ Paige said, prying her friend’s ever-tightening claw from her arm while glaring at the rabid-looking woman pressing close behind her. ‘The doors will open when they open. You will find the dress of your dreams. If you can’t find yourself a dress in a thousand, then clearly you’re a failure as a woman.’

      Mae stopped twitching to glare at her. ‘I should rescind your Maid of Honour duties for that alone.’

      ‘Would you?’ Paige begged.

      Mae laughed. Though it was short-lived. Soon she was jogging on the spot like a prize fighter seconds from entering the ring, her usually wild red hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, her focus fixed, as it had been since the moment her boyfriend had proposed.

      All of a sudden the flaky wooden doors were flung open with a flourish, the mixed scents of camphor and lavender spilling into the air with a sickly sweet rush.

      A tired-looking woman in skinny jeans and a T-shirt the same hot pink as the sign above yelled, ‘No haggling! No refunds! No returns! No sizes bar what’s on the floor!’ The words echoed down the narrow lane, and the line of women mushroomed towards the doors as if she’d announced Hugh Jackman would be giving free back rubs to the first hundred through the door.

      Paige barely kept her feet as she pressed forward into the breach, and then grabbed Mae by the shoulders as she screeched to a sudden halt. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, waves of women poured around them.

      ‘Holy moly,’ Mae said.

      ‘You’re not wrong,’ Paige muttered, as even she was impressed with what she saw.

      Sweetheart necklines by the dozen, beaded corsets as far as the eye could see, sleeves so heavily ruched they made the eyes water. Designer dresses. Off the rack dresses. Second-hand dresses. Factory second dresses. All massively discounted. Every last one of them to be sold that day.

      ‘Move!’ СКАЧАТЬ