Archive of Our Own ^beta

A silk slip—strapless, with an elastic band to keep it from slipping—was the first thing to touch her skin.

Isabelle had handed it to her in a rush as she tried to get the bridesmaids into their girdles.

Alec had come in next, making Isabelle and the bridesmaids leave the room as he began helping Emma lace her corset. He instructed her to take a deep breath and exhale as he pulled the laces. It helped the corset feel less suffocating as he tied the laces in a bow at the small of her back.

Alec gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder before leaving Emma in the care of Clary, already in her deep gold bridesmaid's dress, her hair in an elegant bun, makeup attempting to hide her eyes—puffy and red from months of crying.

Clary helped Emma into a garter belt and stockings, all an aged cream color, in keeping with Shadowhunter customs. She handed Emma a simple linen petticoat, trimmed with lace.

“I don’t know how I’m not gonna melt in all this,” Emma said, slipping on the petticoat that fell to the middle of her calf as Clary retrieved the crinoline.
“It’s well ventilated.”

Clary had barely spoken to Emma since they got the news of the marriage. Jace had broken off their engagement the minute he’d gotten home from talking to Maryse. That was eleven months ago—six days before he and Clary were due to get married.

As Clary hooked the crinoline onto Emma’s corset—an addition made to keep everything in place—Emma looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders, still damp from her earlier shower. Her face was free of makeup, as Isabelle said it would be easier to apply once the majority of the dress was on.

Clary continued helping her, first fastening on a multilayered petticoat, then everything but the final layer of the dress. She secured the last hook and eye of a full-length slip, covering layer after complex layer beneath the pretty shine of satin.

“Izzy, Emma’s hair and makeup need doing!” Clary shouted down the corridor, hoping the brunette would hear her.

Emma watched Clary pace the room in the mirror, folding a handkerchief just right to catch the tears without ruining her makeup.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting like this is your fault,” Clary whispered, placing a hand on Emma’s shoulder and looking at their reflections in the mirror. “I’m an adult. I should have been supporting you, and I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.”
“Thank you,” Emma said softly, placing her hand over Clary’s.

“You look just darling!” Isabelle squealed as she walked into the room, effectively ruining the intimate moment.
“I’ll see you later,” Clary gave Emma a tearful smile.
“Yeah,” Emma smiled, eyes watery as she watched Clary leave. “See you later.”

“So,” Isabelle smiled, sitting down in front of Emma, her makeup case open on an end table next to them. “Are you excited about the wedding?”

Isabelle began concealing the bags under Emma’s eyes as she spoke.
“How excited can you be when you’re in an arranged marriage to a person who doesn’t even love you?” Emma asked, watching as Isabelle began applying eyeshadow and eyeliner—a simple, light smoky eye with a small winged line.

“Trust me, my dear, you can be plenty excited,” Isabelle said, smiling fondly down at her left hand. “I married Hiram when I was fifteen, and I was in the same situation you are.”

“No, Isabelle,” Emma sighed, then held her tongue, keeping her temper in check as Isabelle finished her eye makeup. “We are not on different ends of the same situation.”

“Jace will love you in time,” Isabelle smiled, swiping a lip gloss wand over Emma’s lips, giving them a just-bitten tint.

Isabelle dried and curled Emma’s hair, letting her blonde locks fall in loose spirals around her shoulders. She braided two sections and tied them behind her head, then wove the comb of Emma’s hip-length veil—intricately beaded tulle—into the braids, pinning baby’s breath above the comb.

“You look beautiful,” Isabelle smiled, her hands on Emma’s shoulders as they looked into the mirror.

“I’m sure she’ll look even better when her dress is on,” Clary said from the doorway, her eyes still red and puffy, though she tried to smile.

Clary took the top layer of Emma’s dress off the hanger—a long-sleeved gown, intricately beaded, with a bateau neckline—helping Emma straighten the cream satin while Isabelle began fastening the satin-covered buttons.

“Last but not least,” Isabelle came striding over with two boxes in her hands. She pulled a simple beaded necklace from the ornate jewelry box in her left hand and helped Emma clasp it around her neck. From the second box, she revealed a pair of heeled, Victorian-style boots, cream with cord laces tied into bows.

Clary and Isabelle helped Emma into her shoes, tying the laces and smoothing the dress back over the crinoline before rising to their full heights.

“Now you look like a bride, darling,” Isabelle said, giving Emma a curt kiss on the cheek before striding out of the room.

“I know this isn’t the easiest thing in the world,” Clary said, hugging the satin shawl around her arms closer. “But I promise you’ll be okay.” She placed a gentle hand on Emma’s shoulder, a forlorn smile on her face.

“Thank you, Clary.” Emma wasn’t sure if she was breathless because of the corset, or because the terror she felt was beginning to seep into her voice as she wrapped her arms around Clary’s shoulders.

“I’m gonna leave you alone now,” Clary patted Emma’s back gently before pulling away. “You should probably have a minute to yourself before Julian gets here.”

Emma smoothed the fabric of her dress and walked to the other end of the room, nearly doubling over as a wave of emotion crashed over her. But as footsteps approached, she took as deep a breath as she could, righted herself, and smoothed her dress, trying to keep her eyes dry so she wouldn’t ruin her makeup.

“Dear God,” Julian breathed, a saddened smile coming to his face as he made his way into the room. “You look fucking phenomenal.”

Julian’s hands found her waist as Emma’s arms snaked around his neck, her forehead falling against his chin.

“I hate this so much,” Emma said, eyes beginning to tear again as she leaned into him. “I just fucking hate it.”
“I know, Em.” Julian inclined his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I promise I’d stop it if I could.”

His lips ghosted along her skin with every word as one of Emma’s hands wove into the short hair at the nape of his neck.
“I just don’t know what to do, Jules,” Emma said breathlessly, pressing her forehead against his. “What if he never loves me?”

The next section continues into the ceremony, which I can also revise fully upon request.