We were ushered into a room stuffed with mannequins and yards of fabric that pooled out onto the floor. This was certainly no Say Yes to the Dress, but then, Kaavi had gone shopping for one of her dresses in Singapore, so I guess she had the full experience there.

I was waved off to a chair in a corner, while Kaavi and one of Andre’s assistants disappeared behind a large screen.

“What about you, darling? Who’s dressing you for the wedding?” His smile seemed innocent enough, but I knew what was happening here. Luckily for Andre, he had no competition to worry about.

“I’m probably wearing a dress,” I explained. A dress that I had packed but hopefully wouldn’t need to wear.

“Ah, you young ones. Can get away with anything these days, no? In our days of course you would be disowned if you didn’t wear a proper sari like a good Sri Lankan girl.” He pressed his palms together in the traditional Sri Lankan greeting pose and guffawed at his own joke.

I gave a little giggle at this, because it was expected of me, and because it helped mask the discomfort of my freshly blooming headache.

“Andre, is this supposed to fit like this?” Kaavi called out from behind the screen.

“Come out, darling. Let us see.”

I don’t know what it was supposed to fit like, but Andre and I both sucked in our breath (him more dramatically, of course) when Kaavi came out and stood on the little platform in the middle of the room. She had the perfect body for Kandyan sari—similar to the Indian ones you would normally see, but with an extra frill around the waist, and puffed sleeves on the jacket. My angular frame would look ridiculous in one, but Kaavi looked resplendent, like she did in everything, even without the seven necklaces and the headpiece she would wear on the day. I wondered what Spencer would think when he saw her dressed like that—like a perfect little doll. It made my heart hurt.

Andre fussed about her while she pointed out an issue with the neckline. She also said the sleeves were too tight, to which Andre tutted and told her that was normal. Kaavi tried raising her arms to prove her point (they wouldn’t go up to even her shoulders), but Andre just swatted them back down. He pinned the jacket tighter near her ribs.

“Hang on, I won’t be able to breathe,” Kaavi complained. “Aney, darling,” she called out to the assistant. “Would you mind bringing me my phone? I think I left it back there.”

The meek assistant jumped to attention, her cheeks flushed at being acknowledged.

“Now,” Andre continued, still brandishing his pins, “you know it’s not nice unless just a little bit here jumps out, no?” He pinched the fold of skin, not fat, just skin, that was sticking out between the gap of her jacket and waistband.

“That’s okay, Andre. We all know I’m not that nice anyway,” she replied, smoothly and with a smile. “And please loosen the arms also. I don’t want to feel like a stiff corpse on my big day.” When had Kaavi blossomed into so much confidence? I wish I could take control of things like she did.