“Yes,” Jack replied. He looked relieved that we were about to get the show on the road and not waste any more time talking about Allan D’Alessandro’s woes. “Melissa and I are going to leave from there. She has one more final fitting we have to get to.”
I nodded, murmuring an inner prayer of relief that I hadn’t been invited along on that particular expedition. While I’d been at the boutique for the initial gown selection — a four-hour ordeal that consumed an entire afternoon when I had other matters I needed to handle — once the all-important dress had been chosen, I was no longer required to attend any subsequent fittings. That honor went to Melissa’s mother, who appeared as though she’d spent a good chunk of her divorce settlement on plastic surgery to keep herself looking like her daug
