He said, "Let me take a few opening photos with Marie first. It won't take long."

I looked at the dress on Marie James.

The crabapple embroidery at the collar—I had chosen it myself.

That dress was my toasting gown.

My voice went tight.

"Where did the clothes she's wearing come from?"

Irvin paused.

"That toasting gown of yours—I lent it to her for a while. You lent her my wedding outfit so she could take photos?"

"It was only taken in a little. We'll let it back out after."

Taken in. I stood where I was, and the cold crept through me inch by inch.

I'd tried seven shops before I settled on that dress.

I had no mother to help me pick out a wedding gown, no family to fill the room on my behalf, so I treasured it all the more.

It was the dignity I'd given myself.

And now Marie was wearing it, standing in front of the camera.

Irvin said, "Clothes are dead, favors are alive. Marie's opening photos can't go wrong today."

I let out a small laugh. That line again.

The rules are dead, the clothes are dead, and only my grievance is something I deserve.

Marie came over, her face full of apology.

"Kayla, don't blame Irvin. I told him I couldn't find anything suitable on short notice, and that's when he thought of you."

She touched the crabapple at the collar.

"Though the photographer did say this dress really suits me."

Irvin cut her off quietly. "Marie."

She fell silent, but the smugness in her eyes didn't quite hide.

I asked Irvin, "Did I agree to this?"

He said, "You wouldn't refuse."

I went still. So in his eyes, refusing wasn't even a possibility for me.

The photographer called out, "Miss James, let's do this set by the door first."

Marie looked at Irvin. "Should I go over, then?"

Irvin nodded. He waited until she was far enough away, then lowered his voice. "Don't embarrass her in front of everyone."

I asked, "And me?"

"What?"

"My fiancé gave my wedding dress to another woman to wear. Where does that leave me?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"No one knows it's yours."

That was worse than being cursed at. No one knows, so I can be sacrificed whenever it's convenient.

I turned and went to the bridal shop. The clerk saw me and looked a little awkward.

The clerk said, "Mr. Weiss says the wedding might have to be downsized."

I asked, "Why?"

"He said the bride's side has few family members, and an elaborate ceremony would just feel empty."

The bride's side has few family members. That meant me.

My father died young, my mother rarely contacted me after she remarried, and the only person who ever loved me, my grandmother, was in a nursing home in the small county town.

I was afraid the Weisses would think I had no family behind me, so I asked for no bride price, no procession, no three pieces of gold jewelry.

I thought that was me being considerate. It turned out to be their excuse to trim me down.

My phone chimed. Marie had sent a photo.

She stood in my toasting gown in front of the tearoom.

Irvin was steadying the frog buttons at her waist for her, his touch very gentle.

The caption read: "Kayla, you have such good taste. Lending me the dress to start things off well—don't be upset, okay?"

I looked at the photo, then looked at the hand cream in my bag.

He remembered that my hands crack. But he also remembered that Marie was short one good dress for her opening.

What he gave me was a few dollars' worth of comfort.

What he gave her was my dignity at my own wedding.

I dropped the hand cream into the trash.

Back at the Weiss house, Phyllis was sitting on the sofa, flipping through an almanac.

"The wedding gets pushed back three months."

I stood in the doorway.

"Why?"

"Marie's tearoom just opened. Irvin needs to help her more. There's no rush for the two of you."

Agatha rolled her eyes.

"Besides, after the scene you made yesterday, getting married now would just be bad luck."

I looked at Irvin. He looked away from me.

"A delay's not a bad thing. Everyone needs to cool down."

I nodded.

"Fine."

They all froze. They must have expected me to cry, to argue, to beg him not to postpone it.

Instead I took out my phone and, right in front of all of them, deleted the wedding countdown.

Irvin frowned.

"Kayla, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Cooling down," I said. "That's the one thing I'm good at."

On the morning Marie's tearoom opened, Phyllis knocked on my door at four.

I'd worked late at the hotel the night before, gotten home close to one, and had barely fallen asleep.

She was holding an apron.

"Get up. Go help Marie."

I glanced at my phone. Four-oh-six.

"I have a morning meeting at eight."

"Irvin already called in for you."

That woke me all the way up.

"Who told him to call in for me?"

Irvin came down the hall.

"Marie's opening today, she's short-staffed. You run banquets. You're steadier than the part-timers she hired."

I looked at him.

"So my job doesn't matter."

He sighed.

"It's half a day. Don't make it into such a big deal."

Phyllis sneered.

"Aren't you waiting on people at that hotel too? You wait on people somewhere else for a day, what's the difference?"

The words landed like a slap.

At the hotel I was a banquet supervisor. However tired I got, there was a paycheck, a chance at promotion, people who called me Supervisor Swanson.

In the Weiss house, all I was good for was being the help.

The tearoom's back kitchen was small, and the pastry chef hadn't shown up.

I worked from before dawn until ten in the morning.

Out front, Irvin took the flower baskets for Marie as they arrived.

A customer teased her.

"Ms. James, your boyfriend's so attentive."

Marie didn't deny it, just ducked her head and smiled. Irvin didn't explain either.

The knife in my hand stalled, and the blade nicked my fingertip open.

The part-time girl jumped.

"Hey, your hand's bleeding."

Before I could say anything, Marie came in.

She glanced at my hand.

"Kayla, do me a favor and take this pot of hot syrup out first, the customers are waiting."

The syrup had just come to a boil, and the pot was filled to the brim.

"Split it up," I said. "It'll spill like this."

She smiled.

"No time."

I lifted the pot and headed out. Just as I reached the doorway, Marie suddenly turned back.

Her shoulder slammed into my elbow, and the whole pot of scalding syrup tipped over.

It poured from my forearm down to the back of my hand.

The pain blacked out my vision. Marie screamed.

"Irvin!"

Irvin was the first one through the door.

He saw the syrup on the floor, then saw Marie standing there, white-faced.

"Did you get burned?"

He was asking her.

Marie's tears came fast.

"I didn't, but Kayla got burned, I think. It's all my fault—"

A customer couldn't watch anymore.

"This girl's hand is bright red. Get it under water, quick."

Only then did Irvin look at me.

His face changed, and he crossed the room in a few steps and grabbed my wrist.

"How did you burn it this badly?"

He pulled me to the faucet.

When the cold water hit, I was shaking all over from the pain.

"Hospital," he said.

In that moment, I'll admit I wavered again, because the worry on his face didn't look fake.

He wrapped his jacket around me and drove me there himself.

Halfway there, Marie called.

I don't know what she said, but Irvin's face changed.

"The client's arriving now?"

He glanced at me.

"I'll be right back."

I turned my head slowly.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road. Up ahead was a neighborhood clinic.

"Kayla, deal with it for now. I'll be back in ten minutes."

I looked down at my hand. The blisters were already swelling up.

"You're going back?"

"Marie's client decides half a year of the tearoom's revenue."

"And my hand? Is it not as important as her client?"

He gripped the wheel tighter.

"Don't say things you don't mean. I'll be quick."

I got out. The instant the car door shut, he was already turning around.

The clinic doctor took one look and frowned.

"This needs a hospital. The burn covers a fair amount of skin."

I took a cab to the ER myself.

While the doctor cleaned the wound, he asked, "Where's your family?"

I said, "Busy."

The doctor sighed.

"Change the dressing on schedule, keep it away from water, or it'll scar."

I looked at my bandaged hand, and suddenly thought of Rule Nine in the Twenty-Four House Rules.

A woman's hands and feet must be clean, no scars, nothing that costs her dignity.

What a joke. They wanted my hands to look dignified, but didn't care whether they hurt.

That evening, Irvin finally came to the hospital.

He had medicine in his hand.

"What did the doctor say?"

"It'll scar."

For a moment, guilt crossed his face.

"I'm sorry. That client this afternoon was just too important."

I said nothing. He set the medicine down.

"Marie asked me to buy this. She was scared out of her mind too."

I looked at the bag. Two tubes of burn cream.

One already opened, one new.

On my phone, Agatha had just posted to her feed.

Marie James, sitting on the tearoom sofa, the same brand of burn cream by her hand.

The caption: "Marie was so frightened her face went pale. My brother brought her the medicine first. So sweet of him."

I stared at that line, and suddenly even the pain felt like more than I needed.

Irvin was still talking. "Marie says she didn't do it on purpose. When you get home, don't bring it up with my mom. It's opening day. Don't make things unpleasant for everyone."

My phone rang right then. It was the aide from the nursing home.

I picked up. Her voice was urgent.

"Miss Swanson, your grandmother had a fall today. The doctor says it doesn't look good. You'd better come back tomorrow."

I bolted upright.

"How is she now?"

"Still under observation. She may have to be transferred to the county hospital."

The next morning, the aide called again.

This time her voice was shaking.

"Miss Swanson, the old lady passed out again last night. We're moving her to the county hospital now, and the doctor says we need to pay a deposit first."

I called Irvin immediately.

"Transfer me the eighty thousand I left with you."

That was the emergency money I'd set aside for Grandma, the money I'd meant to use after the wedding to hire her a better aide.

Irvin had said the interest was higher in his investment account.

His voice dropped a little.

"That money. I lent it to Marie for a while, to cover her cash flow."

For a second my mind went blank.

"What did you say?"

"Her tearoom just opened. The payments to suppliers are tight. I figured the wedding's been pushed back, so we wouldn't need that money for now."

I laughed out loud.

"Irvin, that's my grandmother's life-saving money."

"I know. I'll figure something out."

"When?"

"Maybe not today. Tomorrow…"

I cut him off.

"My grandmother is in the hospital right now."

Marie's voice came through from his end.

"Irvin, the supplier's here."

Irvin lowered his voice.

"Kayla, I really can't get away right now. Put it on your credit card for now, or borrow from a friend."

I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Then drive me back to the county town."

"I have to be with Marie to sign the contract."

"Give me the car keys."

"I drove the car out."

The rain pounded against the window. I listened to the faint voices on his end, and felt nothing but how absurdly pitiful I was.