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  Focus, Gabi. Focus.

  Kitty gave the closed door another quick glance as if expecting Demetri to materialize on the other side. “Well, here’s the good news,” she said, her gaze now shifting back to the dress. “Nicolette is gonna look like a million bucks on her big day. That’s really all that matters.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I didn’t mention that I would have gone with a completely different design for the overly curvaceous thirty-something debutante. To my way of thinking, Nicolette needed something more formal. Less Hollywood party girl–like. I felt sure the ladies at the local Junior League would agree.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to pop in to remind you that Nicolette’s not the only special guest today. I’ve already prepped Lydia and Corinne. We’ve got that reporter coming from Texas Bride, so everyone needs to be on their game.”

  “Reporter?” Demetri had mentioned something about a magazine, hadn’t he? But . . . today?

  Kitty rose and smoothed her skirt. “Yeah, he’s coming this morning at 9:15 for an interview. Not sure if he’s bringing a photographer with him, but be prepared just in case.”

  “Oh, wow. Well, Demetri’s got to love the free promotion.” I did my best not to let the sarcasm in my voice ring through.

  “Actually, the article is specifically about Nicolette’s gown, which is why he’s so keen on getting it finished before the reporter gets here. It’s going to be the star of the show.”

  She pointed to the exquisite beaded dress, and I looked at it again with new eyes. If I’d known the gown was going to be photographed, I would have . . . Hmm. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Not a thing.

  “The reporter’s actually interviewing several designers across south Texas, each with a unique point of view, and we’re thrilled to be on the list.”

  “I see.” Must be nice, garnering that kind of acclaim for your work. I shoved aside the teensy-tiny bit of jealousy that threatened to erupt. “Well, I’m sure Demetri is pleased. I would be.”

  “He’s nervous, I think.” Her thinly plucked brows narrowed, and for the first time I noticed the color did not match her hair. Very suspicious. “But you know how he is. He tends to run on the excitable side. Even on a normal day, I mean.”

  To say the least. The man was more emotional than a mother of the bride on her daughter’s wedding day, and I’d met more than my fair share of those.

  “The key here is to leave a lasting impression so that the reporter never forgets Haute Couture Bridal,” Kitty said. “We want to be memorable, to stand out.”

  “Stand out, eh?” I couldn’t help the giggle that rose up. “Well, I could do a song and dance number when the guy gets here. I was in musical theater, you know. And I worked at the Grand Opera Society.” I didn’t mention that I’d only worked behind the scenes, sewing costumes for the cast members. Instead, I gave what I hoped looked like a confident smile.

  Kitty laughed. “No song and dance necessary, except the usual from Demetri. He’ll be all politeness and smiles when the reporter is here.”

  In other words, he’d be faking it, as always. I bit back a sharp retort and smiled weakly. “Well, if you change your mind on the song and dance number, you know where to find me.”

  “Yes, I know where to find you.” She glanced around my small janitor closet turned work space and sighed. “I keep telling Demetri you need more room. I’d go crazy cooped up in this little . . .”

  “Closet.” A hint of a sigh escaped as I finished the sentence for her.

  My gaze shifted to a photo of Ginger Rogers I’d fastened to the wall. I read the words beneath for the thousandth time: The only way to enjoy anything in this life is to earn it first.

  I pondered Ginger’s journey—how she’d served as a prop in Fred Astaire’s arms as he’d waltzed her across the dance floor in movie after movie. How the spotlight had shone brighter on him, even though she’d done all of the same dance steps. In heels. Backwards. With the edges of her lips curled up in a relaxed smile, seemingly at ease with her role.

  In that moment, the weirdest image floated across my brain. I saw myself gliding across the floor with Demetri taking the lead, the tips of his polished Versaces tromping on my aching toes. His smile—forced, of course—was my cue to keep dancing. And so I did, while onlookers lavished him with praise for the exquisite routine and he pulled the red silk handkerchief from his beautifully tailored coat pocket and swiped glistening beads of sweat from his wrinkled brow.

  “Gabi? You okay?”

  I snapped back to attention and saw the look of concern on Kitty’s face. “Oh, yeah. Just thinking.”

  Kitty said something about having to clean the bird droppings off the front sign, but I didn’t hear most of it. I kept thinking about that image of Demetri waltzing me across the room and then posing for the cameras while I nursed my bruised toes . . . and pride.

  Left alone in my little closet, I did my best to shake off my frustrations. If Ginger could hang on while she paid her dues, I could too. I would go on biding my time in this tiny janitor closet until a larger one came along. In the meantime, I would bend over backwards to make sure Nicolette Cavanaugh and her DDs were happy with my services, and I would do it all with a smile on my face . . . no matter how much my toes ached.

  Perfect Strangers

  My mother told me I was dancing before I was born. She could feel my toes tapping wildly inside her for months.

  Ginger Rogers

  At a quarter of nine I finished steam-pressing Nicolette’s gown and made my way to the break room at the back of the shop. With the diva bride coming, I needed to stiffen my backbone in preparation. Caffeine would do the trick. Demetri’s state-of-the-art coffeemaker beckoned, and I must answer.

  I reached for my TIED UP IN KNOTS coffee mug, placed it underneath the automatic coffeemaker, chose a packet of French roast, and then pushed the button to begin the brewing process. As the machine began to hum, my thoughts sailed back to the conversation with Kitty. No wonder Demetri had been so worked up about Nicolette’s dress. With the reporter zeroing in on the gown, he had a lot at stake—far more than I’d been aware of.

  A little hiss sounded from the machine, and my cup began to fill with the steaming liquid. I added a couple of packets of sweetener and then reached into the refrigerator to grab the large bottle of Italian Sweet Crème creamer. Most people used a tablespoon or so. Not me. What good was a cup of coffee if not rich and sweet? I poured in a liberal amount, then put the bottle back into the fridge and leaned against the counter, deep in thought.

  As I glanced around the break room, something occurred to me. This beautifully decorated space seemed gargantuan in comparison to my closet turned alterations room. I rarely utilized this area except for the occasional cup of coffee or sandwich at lunch. Kitty and Demetri most often headed down the street to Parma John’s Pizzeria with the Fab Five during their lunch hour. Lydia and Corinne usually took their lunch to the patio area outside. Seemed like a waste to let the room sit here like this, empty and useless.

  Maybe Demetri would consider switching things up. Sure. We could swap rooms. This could be my office. My thoughts began to wander as I played out the possibilities in my mind. I laid out the entire room in my imagination, even placing the furniture and dress forms in place. This, of course, shifted my thoughts to my own dress designs, which propelled my overactive imagination down a different track entirely.

  “Gabriella!” I heard Demetri’s voice sound from outside the door, and a little shiver ran down my spine.

  I’d just opened my mouth to respond when he stormed into the room, the fine lines on his forehead emphasizing his narrowed gaze. He had that wild-eyed look, the same one a hunter gets as he zeroes in on his prey. Not that I’d ever been hunting. And not that I’d ever seen a hunter in an Yves Saint Laurent suit. Not exactly camouflage, but equally as effective in one-upping his prey.

  “Zere you are.” He spoke the words as some sort of accusation, as if grabbing a cup of coffe
e was out of line. He pointed to the cup in my hands, still full of the steaming liquid. “Ve don’t have time for breaks today, Gabi. And vhatever you do, don’t take your coffee into zee alterations room.”

  “Right.” Did he think I was an idiot? I’d never taken my coffee in there before. Why would I start today?

  “The last thing ve need is a catastrophe on zis very important day.” He walked away, muttering something about how he needed to take another antianxiety tablet. If I’d had one handy, I might’ve taken it myself. Instead, I slurped a couple of mouthfuls of coffee, poured the rest down the sink, and headed back to my closet—er, alterations room. With Nicolette’s dress complete, I turned my attention to hemming another wedding gown for an exceptionally petite bride. If time permitted, I would tackle the hem of the dress in the window.

  Nicolette Cavanaugh arrived at nine, as planned. I could hear her coming and braced myself. She blasted her way into the alterations room, DDs leading the way. I hated to stare at the woman’s chest, but it was considerably larger. Hopefully my imagination was playing tricks on me. My gaze shifted up to her face. The austere expression reflected her haughty manner. Ugh. Such a diva.

  Demetri followed hot on Nicolette’s heels, bug-eyed as his gaze shifted back and forth between her chest and her wedding gown, which I’d prominently displayed in the corner. Behind him Kitty pressed her way inside, looking calmer than the other two.

  Nicolette took one quick glance at the dress, and her somewhat pointed nose wrinkled. “Are you sure you let it out enough?”

  Well, hello to you too. Great to see you again.

  I finally managed an abbreviated response. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “And if you didn’t?” She folded her arms at her chest—not an easy task, from what I could gather—and glared at me.

  Demetri brushed past her in the direction of the gown. “Ve vill make it perfect,” he said with a flourish. “No charge, of course.”

  “I’m guessing the waistline will be too large. I’ve been dieting, as I’m sure you can tell.” She sucked in a deep breath and stood a bit taller.

  I saw, all right. Her waist did seem smaller. Or was that just an illusion, with the larger chest? The hourglass figure called for a completely different design, but I would never say so.

  “I’ve been off sugar for six weeks.” She released a breath and her posture weakened. “You have no idea how hard it’s been. I’m a sugar addict. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to look great on her wedding day.” Fine lines appeared on her brow.

  “Amen to zat,” Demetri said.

  “Which is why I’m still feeling too unsettled about this dress.” Nicolette scrutinized the gown once again and breathed a little sigh. “I’ve already been wondering if I made the right choice to begin with.”

  Demetri blanched at this news, and I could almost envision the thoughts whirling around in his head. “Zis gown vas made for you, dah-ling,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Designed vith your personality and your exquisite physique in mind.” A fake smile followed.

  “I am grateful, of course.” She gazed at the dress more intently than before, fingering the beadwork. “Your work is always so lovely, Demetri. Everyone on the island says so.”

  “On zee island?” he echoed, then fanned himself with his hand.

  “In the state.” She faced him head-on and grinned. “Which is exactly why I chose you to design my gown.”

  “Ah, zat’s more like it.” With a flourish, Demetri bowed. “I am your humble servant, here at your beck and call.”

  Demetri, a servant? Hardly.

  “Well then, I will call you with a request to design my veil,” she said. “I hadn’t planned to wear one, but Peter insists. Some sort of family tradition or something. Honestly, I can’t imagine messing up my hair with a veil, but he won’t hear of anything else.”

  “I vill create zee perfect veil to match your gown,” Demetri said. “No charge. And think of how beautiful zee dress vill look with just zee right one.” He shifted into a conversation about silk tulle versus English net, carrying on about his latest shipment of the latter, but seemed to lose her after a minute or two. I had a feeling the girl couldn’t care less. In fact, I suspected she wouldn’t even wear a veil on the big day.

  “Maybe the dress will fit.” Nicolette set her Louis Vuitton bag down on the chair and ran her finger across the Austrian crystals on the gown’s skirt. “I will have to see it on to make a determination.”

  With a wave of his hand Demetri gestured for Kitty to remove the gown from the dress form, then announced that he would be in his studio prepping the Fab Five for the reporter’s arrival should we need him. No doubt he planned to swallow the rest of the bottle of antianxiety meds somewhere along the way.

  Nicolette turned to the sketchpad on my desk. Oh, yikes! She picked it up and flipped through the pages while Kitty lifted the gown from its perch in the corner. Nicolette gazed at my designs without saying a word—Thank you, God!—but I noticed she paused on one of my favorites and glanced my way as if to ask, “Did you do this?”

  I nodded and breathed a silent prayer that she would put the sketchbook back down on the desk. She did. I scolded myself for bringing it here in the first place.

  Never. Again.

  Kitty carried Nicolette’s white satin gown out of the alterations room, across the front of the shop, beyond rows of high-end dresses, and into the spacious dressing room area with its Victorian fainting couch and matching wingback chairs. Nicolette followed behind her, glancing down at the expensive zebra rug before disappearing from view inside one of the little changing rooms.

  I followed behind Kitty, hoping against hope that Nicolette wouldn’t say anything about my designs. So far, so good. By the time I reached the Grecian statue lamp—Really, who chooses a naked lady holding a chandelier for their dressing area?—I was convinced I’d worried for nothing. I paused to fuss with the fresh roses in the large crystal vase on the marble side table, noticing that one of them had a wilting petal. Demetri would be humiliated. I plucked it off and stuck it in my pocket.

  Kitty glanced at me through the open door leading to Nicolette’s changing room, and I could read the concern in her expression. “Gabi, Lydia and Corinne are on break. If any customers come in while I’m busy, will you wait on them?”

  “Sure.” I could scarcely control my nerves at this point, but I did my best to remain calm, at least on the outside. Thank goodness we didn’t have any customers at the moment. Hopefully all of the island’s brides-to-be had other plans this morning.

  Kitty closed the door and then opened it a couple of inches, speaking through the crack. “Oh, and that reporter . . . he’s due here any second. Take care of him, okay?”

  “O-okay.” How she expected me to take care of him, I couldn’t say. Keep him preoccupied, maybe. Sure. I could show him around. Likely he would be the studious sort with a pencil behind his ear and a note tablet in hand. I’d watched enough television dramas to know the type.

  “Make sure he makes it to Demetri’s office,” she added from behind the closed door. “He can wait there until Demetri is ready to see him.”

  “Will do.” I paused to glance at my reflection in the full-length mirror that made up the outside of the door, groaning internally when I saw that my eye shadow looked a bit uneven today. I thanked my lucky stars that Demetri hadn’t noticed. Yet.

  Naturally, this reminded me of a funny scene in Top Hat, one of my favorite Fred and Ginger movies. Before long I was completely lost in the moment, whisked to a dreamlike state by the dancing duo.

  I snapped to attention when a customer paused at the front window, gazing at the uneven hem on the mannequin. Oops. I headed to the front of the store, ready to play the role of salesclerk and wishing I had perfect hair like Kitty or vivacious personalities like the Dynamic Duo. If I did, maybe Demetri would put me in a place of prominence.

  Positioning myself behind the counter, I reached for a tiny
compact mirror in Kitty’s top drawer and went to work, dabbing at my eye shadow. Somehow I managed to leave a light silver-green streak across my right cheek. Great. I stuck my index finger in my mouth to wet it and did my best to remove the streak. Unfortunately, all of my rubbing left a red mark the size of my thumb. Oh well.

  After I put the mirror back in its place, I released a slow breath and reflected on what had just happened with Nicolette. She’d clearly been intrigued by my designs. I could tell as much from the look of interest in her eyes. On some level, that made me feel really good.

  Still, what was I thinking? I scolded myself for bringing the sketchpad to work and vowed never to do so again. If Demetri saw it, I would be toast. Burnt toast.

  My thoughts shifted to the goings-on in the dressing room. I crossed my fingers, hoping for the best with the fit of the gown. Surely Nicolette would be pleased as punch when she saw that I’d fitted the bodice appropriately. And maybe the waistline wouldn’t be too large. I hoped. If so, I would deal with it.

  At that very moment, a shimmer of light from the front of the store caught me off guard. I couldn’t help but squint as I looked toward the front door. Streams of sunlight poured in from the open door, making it tough to see.

  At first.

  After a moment of squinting, I finally got a good look at the fella who’d stepped into the shop. A teensy-tiny gasp slipped out as I stared at the handsome stranger. If Prince William had a twin, it would be this guy—tall, stately, with blond hair. Mama mia, what a surprise. Was this our reporter? Not at all what I’d pictured. More Hollywood glam boy and less Discovery Channel narrator.

  Hello, Mr. Reporter.

  Poor guy. He seemed a little confused, swallowed up by a sea of white satin and tulle. And though he wore a nice suit—moderately priced, from what I could gather from the cut and fit—he looked strangely out of place among all of the top-of-the-line gowns.

  With Kitty in the dressing room and Lydia and Corinne on break, I had to play the role of hostess, did I not? I took a few tentative steps toward him, feeling a little discombobulated as the smell of his yummy cologne captivated me. I stared at his eyes—deep sea-green eyes, perfect for a close-up on the big screen—and did my best not to swoon. Swooning was highly overrated, particularly among alterations specialists. We needed to keep our wits about us at all times lest we do damage with the scissors and needles and such.