"Sit still, for the love of all that's holy!"
"But I want to see it!" Constance said impatiently, craning her neck toward the vanity mirror again.
Nannerl leveled a pin at her like a tiny sword. "If you keep fidgeting, all anyone will see are little red spots all over your wedding dress!"
"My mother's wedding dress," huffed Constance. "My mother's old, musty wedding dress."
"It's… charming," Nannerl assured her, though she knew her voice was strained. "Adjust a few seams here and there and it'll be lovely. Now sit still!"
Constance rolled her eyes and threw her arms out to either side.
She was right, Nannerl thought as she got back to work pinning up the oversized sleeves and the loose, ill-fitting bodice: Cécilia Weber had been married more than a quarter of a century ago, and it was doubtful that this dress had been in fashion even then. But with Father refusing to support Wolfgang's marriage, poor Constance would either have to wear her mother's outdated dress to the church or one of her everyday dresses. Her sisters were no help: Josepha was too tall and Sophie, like Nannerl, was far too small. In a moment of desperation, Nannerl had even written to Aloysia Lange herself to ask if she could smuggle a costume out of the opera for the occasion, but hadn't received a response.
Wolfgang had joked that Nannerl cared more than he did, maybe even more than Constance. She had waved the comment away with a laugh, but it kept coming back to her. Why was it so important to her that her little brother's bride look perfect on their wedding day? What did it matter?
She pinned up the last seam in the bodice and stepped back, cupping her chin in her hand as she studied her future sister-in-law. She would have been breathtaking in a housecoat, or in sackcloth, or even in one of Wolfgang's suits. Goodness knows she looked like an angel in nothing but a shift.
The night before, in order to preserve some sense of suspense, Constance had boarded in Nannerl's room. Too excited to sleep, she had wedged herself into the narrow bed, gathered the blankets up to her chin, and excitedly whispered about the benefits of marriage with Nannerl until she wore herself out and dozed off with her cheek against Nannerl's arm. Nannerl hadn't dared move after that. Constance needed rest, after all. But the warmth of her body pressed to Nannerl's, the brush of her lips against Nannerl's arm, the way her breath ghosted over her skin…
"Well?" Constance asked. She was still standing obediently in the center of the room, arms outstretched. "What are you staring at? How do I look?"
"Beautiful," Nannerl answered without thinking.
Constance's face lit up, her blue eyes shining like the summer sky. "Really? You fixed it?" She flung her arms around Nannerl then and pulled her into a tight embrace. "God, I love you!"
Nannerl slid her arms around Constance's waist, mindful of the pins, and breathed in the smell of her hair. She closed her eyes; if she was still enough, she could almost feel Constance's heartbeat against her breast.
But Constance pulled away too soon, pressing a quick kiss to Nannerl's forehead as she released her. "Wolfgang is so lucky to have you!" she exclaimed, gathering her skirts in her hands and hurrying over to the mirror.
Nannerl allowed herself a moment to watch Constance as she turned to and fro, twisting her hair experimentally away from her long neck and looking for her best angle. Then she nodded, shook herself out of it, and got to work cleaning up the sewing kit.
Her brother was definitely lucky.