Finding Betsy (Betsy Jones Book 2)

Finding Betsy - Chapter 31

There were many things Betsy cared about. Clothes shopping was not one of them.

There was something about being in a crowded store and being blocked into aisles by other shoppers that set her on edge. And, if she was being honest, she only cared that things were comfortable.  A part of her was willing to outsource that to one of Nick's personal shoppers. They certainly knew how to pick out a ball gown better than she could.  They even had a way of making Betsy look glamorous when she was feeling anything but.

Wedding dress shopping? That was an entirely different situation. Betsy had already had the one wedding. She had already had her 'yes' dress. At least, the 'yes' dress she could afford. As her fingers ran over the rows of lace and tulle in the small boutique that was located in the centre of a small Kentish town, she could still picture THE dress. The one she had loved all those years ago but had been so far out of her price range.

How things had changed.

Nick had told her there was no limit today. The thought of spending thousands on a dress - on THE dress - was just ludicrous.

Splurging on a dress she would wear only once still grated against the deep ingrained part of her that hated to waste money. Even though money was no object and she could afford THE dress now, Betsy knew she would never buy it. She would never even try is on again.

It was the dream dress of another Betsy. The Betsy who was still in the midst of her first puppy love and the wistfulness of happy ever afters.

Not that she wasn't getting her happy after now. It was just a very different one to the one she thought she was getting the first time around.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Claire asked, coming to stand beside her.

"Just thinking about how much my tastes have changed since the last time I did this."

Claire snorted, her hand resting on her protruding stomach. "It's called growing up and thank goodness we have. I do not like to remember the fashion disasters of fifteen year old me." She gave a little shudder of revulsion.

"Me either," Betsy agreed, giving a wince as she remembered the phase of wearing skirts over her jeans. 

How had she thought that was even a good look? Then again, much of her choices back then were dreadful. That didn't even touch upon the ridiculous amounts of blue eye shadow she used to wear nor her teenage addiction to the Maybelline Dream Matte mousse foundation two shades too dark. It was a time best forgotten.

"Good morning, ladies. And you must be the bride," A tall birdlike woman flounced in on a cloud of Chanel perfume and peppiness that could only come with loving her job. She shook Betsy's hand before clicking her fingers impatiently at the young shop assistant beside her.

Moments later, Betsy found her hand filled with a flute of bubbles while her sister cradled a glass of overly expensive elderflower cordial. Delilah had a flute of what Betsy had been reassured was merely lemonade. She bloody hoped it way. 

She took a sip of the alcohol, enjoying the feel of the bubbles against her tongue, before the glass was promptly whisked away. 

"So, did you have any preferences for styles?" The sales assistant asked, dragging her towards the rack of dresses. "White? Off white? Colour? Short. Long."

Betsy opened and closed her mouth. "I'm not sure. Definitely not colour. I'm probably a bit more of a tradition kind of woman."

"How about we try on a few different styles to see what you like?"

"Can I just look around first?"

"Of course. Now, am I correct in assuming that we have both the maid of honour and the bridesmaids with you today?"