Revenge Wears Prada Read Free

second later her mother was cinching the delicate fabric in the back and zipping Andy into it. Andy’s grandmother clucked delightedly. Lily cried. Emily sneaked a cigarette in the bridal suite bathroom, thinking no one would notice. Andy tried to soak it all in. And then she was alone. For just a few minutes before she was expected in the grand ballroom, everyone left her to get themselves ready, and Andy sat perched awkwardly on a tufted antique chair, trying not to wrinkle or ruin any inch of herself. In less than one hour she would be a married woman, committed for the rest of her life to Max, and he to her. It was almost too much to fathom.
    The suite’s phone rang. Max’s mother was on the other end.
    “Good morning, Barbara,” Andy said as warmly as she could. Barbara Anne Williams Harrison, Daughter of the American Revolution, descendant of not one but two signers of the Constitution, perennial fixture on every charitable board that socially mattered in Manhattan. From her Oscar Blandi–coiffed hair toher Chanel ballet flats, Barbara was always perfectly polite to Andy. Perfectly polite to everyone. But effusive she was not. Andy tried not to take it personally, and Max assured her it was all in her head. Perhaps in the early days Barbara had thought Andy was another of her son’s passing phases? Then Andy convinced herself Barbara’s acquaintance with Miranda had poisoned any hope of bonding with her mother-in-law. Eventually Andy realized it was just Barbara’s way—she was coolly polite to everyone, even her own daughter. She couldn’t imagine ever calling that woman “Mom.” Not that she’d been invited to . . .
    “Hello, Andrea. I just realized I never actually gave you the necklace. I was racing so frantically this morning trying to get everything organized that I ended up late for hair and makeup! I’m calling to let you know that it’s in a velvet box in Max’s room, tucked into the side pocket of that vile duffel bag of his. I didn’t want the staff to see it lying about. Perhaps you’ll be more successful in persuading him to carry something more dignified? Lord knows I’ve tried a thousand times, but he simply won’t—”
    “Thanks, Barbara. I’ll go get it right now.”
    “You’ll do no such thing!” the woman trilled sharply. “You simply cannot see each other before the ceremony—it’s bad luck. Send your mother or Nina. Anyone else. All right?”
    “Of course,” Andy said. She hung up the phone and headed into the hallway. She’d learned early on that it was easier to agree with Barbara and then go on to do what she pleased; arguing got her nowhere. Which is exactly why she was wearing a Harrison family heirloom as her “something old” instead of something from her own relatives: Barbara had insisted. Six generations of Harrisons had included that necklace in their weddings, and Andy and Max would, too.
    Max’s suite door was slightly ajar, and she could hear the shower running in the bathroom when she stepped inside. Classic, she thought. I’ve been getting ready for the last five hours and he’s just now getting in the shower.
    “Max? It’s me. Don’t come out!”
    “Andy? What are you doing here?” Max’s voice called through the bathroom door.
    “I’m just getting your mom’s necklace. Don’t come out, okay? I don’t want you to see me in my dress.”
    Andy rummaged around in the bag’s front pocket. She didn’t feel a velvet box but her hands closed around a folded paper.
    It was a piece of cream-colored stationery, heavyweight and engraved with Barbara’s initials, BHW, in a navy script monogram. Andy knew Barbara helped keep Dempsey & Carroll in business with the amount of stationery she bought; she had been using the same design for birthday greetings, thank-you notes, dinner invitations, and condolence wishes for four decades. She was old-fashioned and formal and would rather have died than send someone a gauche e-mail or—horror!—a