The Dream Dress Read online

  “Can I help you?” I managed after a couple of seconds of awkward silence.

  “Yes.” He glanced down at the notepad in his hand as if searching for something and then looked my way once again. “I’m Jordan Singer from Texas Bride magazine.” He handed me a business card. Low-end quality. Black on white. My boss would hate it. “I’m looking for . . .” He glanced back down at his notepad. “Demetri?”

  I smiled, my performance as solid as a rock. “Demetri Markowitz, our owner and one of the country’s most renowned dress designers.”

  “Looks like I’ve landed in the right place then.” The reporter stuck his notepad under his arm and reached to shake my hand. “Is he here?”

  With his hand now swallowing mine, I flashed another confident smile. “Yes, he’s in his studio.” No doubt giving the Fab Five instructions on how to impress you, but that’s beside the point.

  “His studio?” The handsome stranger gave me a perplexed look.

  “Yes.” I withdrew my hand and nodded. “He has a design studio in the building behind this one.”

  “Right, right. I think I knew that. I guess that’s where the magic takes place.” A hint of a smile curled up the edges of Prince William’s—er, Jordan Singer’s—lips.

  The only magic taking place at the moment happened to be in my heart. I felt a little like one of those women in movies from days gone by, the ones who couldn’t seem to walk or talk straight when a handsome fella walked into the room. Visions of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers danced through my mind, but I forced them away.

  “Um, yes. Demetri. Magic. Studio.”

  Jordan gave me an odd look and shrugged. “So . . .”

  “I’ll take you to Mr. Markowitz’s office. He will meet you there shortly.” Just as quickly as I page him, anyway.

  I moved in front of the reporter to lead the way to Demetri’s exquisitely decorated office. I’d just taken a couple of steps when the bell above the front door jangled. I looked up to see Scarlet Lindsey, owner of Let Them Eat Cake, my favorite island bakery. She entered the store with a tray of delectable edibles in hand, her smile exuding a sunny cheerfulness, as always.

  Yum. I drooled when I saw the platter of baked goods. My gaze shifted to the chocolate-covered éclairs, and I could hardly contain myself.

  “I come bearing gifts!” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you.” I couldn’t imagine why she’d brought them into the shop. Demetri would have a fit if he saw someone—other than a potential customer, anyway—bringing food in here. I needed to get that tray out of her hands, and the sooner the better. My mind reeled as I fought to come up with a plan. Yes, I would carry the tray back to the break room. That would work. Demetri rarely went in there.

  Scarlet’s gaze shifted between Prince William and me, and I could read the intrigue in her eyes.

  Don’t make assumptions, girl. He’s not mine. Not even close.

  “Scarlet Lindsey, this is Jordan Singer. He’s a reporter for Texas Bride magazine.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Scarlet said, smiling at Prince William.

  “You too,” he replied.

  I eased the tray out of Scarlet’s hands, practically drooling as I hyper-focused on the chocolate éclairs. I’d never been able to resist them—especially when they were covered in rich, dark chocolate.

  Don’t do it.

  I must’ve said the words aloud without meaning to, because Prince William gave me a contemplative look. “I won’t, I promise. But it’s tempting, I have to admit.”

  Embarrassment washed over me. “Oh, sorry. Just talking to myself.”

  Not that he appeared to be paying any attention. No, his gaze was fixed on the tray of goodies.

  “Have one,” Scarlet encouraged him. “We’re celebrating!”

  I almost groaned aloud as Mr. Reporter reached to grab an éclair from the tray. “What are we celebrating?” he asked and then shoved the yummy thing into his mouth.

  “Ooo, it’s the best news ever.” She let out a girlish squeal. “I’m engaged!”

  “No way.” I nearly lost the tray at this point, but the reporter caught the edge and leveled it out. Our fingers touched as he steadied it, and I felt a little tingling in my fingertips. Might’ve been from the way I now clutched the tray. Or not. Either way, I needed to get this thing back to the break room before Demetri saw it.

  “It’s true! I’m engaged!” She clapped her hands together. “Armando proposed a few weeks ago at the bakery. That’s why I’m here. When I gave Bella the news, she told me to come and see you, since you’re the best designer on the island. Thought maybe the chocolate would serve as a nice bribe.”

  “O-oh?” I could hardly interrupt Scarlet’s story midsentence, now could I? Especially when she mentioned Bella’s name. If the island’s most illustrious wedding planner said that Scarlet needed my services, I’d better pay attention. I leaned against the counter and gazed down at the éclairs, my stomach now rumbling.

  “Well, of course! I need to talk to you about making my dress.” Off Scarlet went on a tangent, telling Mr. Reporter what a great designer I was. How my dresses should be hanging on the mannequins in the front window. How I really understood the heart of the bride, being a woman and all, and how nothing any other designer could create would come close to my designs. How Bella Neeley—with all of her sage wisdom—recommended me above all other designers. I appreciated the flattery, but here? Now? Ack!

  “You’re a designer too?” Mr. Reporter gave me a “now here’s a story I didn’t anticipate” look.

  Panic overtook me, but I couldn’t let it show in my expression. Instead, I managed a weak smile and took a couple of steps toward the break room. “I . . . dabble.”

  “You dabble?” He took another éclair.

  “In dresses,” I explained. “But nothing like Demetri. Nothing, nothing, nothing like Demetri.”

  “Nothing is right.” Scarlet put a hand on my arm. “Her designs are just gorgeous.”

  Oh. Help.

  Scarlet giggled. “Gabi here is so . . . today. I’m telling you, her gowns should be in magazines.”

  “In magazines, eh?” The reporter’s eyes narrowed to slits, and I felt my face heat up.

  “Yep. She’s the best.”

  Scarlet continued to sing my praises, even giving details about a dress I’d made for a recent bride, our mutual friend Hannah. I flashed a warning look, but she didn’t take the hint. Instead, she rambled on about my talents and abilities, sharing so much that Mr. Reporter finally reached for his notebook and started jotting down notes. Great. Might as well go ahead and plan my funeral now before Demetri had a chance to kill me.

  “Did I hear you say that Bella Neeley knows about your designs?” The handsome reporter gave me an inquisitive look. “If so, it must be nice to have her stamp of approval. Bella owns the most popular wedding facility in the state, and her word is law when it comes to weddings.”

  “Don’t you just love Club Wed?” Scarlet giggled. “I’ve baked cakes for lots of weddings there.” She gestured to his notepad. “You can put that in your article if you like. Did I mention that I bake wedding cakes? I do, you know. My shop—Let Them Eat Cake—is just a few doors down. If you ever want to do an article on wedding cakes, I mean.”

  Another little giggle followed from Scarlet. Me? I wanted a black hole to swallow me up. Instead, I grimaced as Scarlet added an additional nail to my coffin with her over-the-top statement, “Bella just loves my shop, but you want to know what she loves even more? Gabi’s designs.”

  Great. Put me six feet under and call it done.

  At this point I went into a legitimate panic. I felt the heat start in my neck and move its way up my face. I managed to say, “I’ll be right back. I just need to put these éclairs . . .”

  What happened next will forever remain seared in my memory. Nicolette and Kitty emerged from the changing room. In spite of the semi-sour expression on the bride’s face, she looked radiant in the dres
s, which fit to a T.

  Er, fit to a DD.

  I could tell Nicolette still wasn’t happy, but that didn’t matter right now. Relief flooded over me as I realized the perfection of the fit of the gown. Well, relief filled with concern about the tray of sweets, which the bride-to-be zeroed in on.

  She took several steps in my direction, the large bell skirt on her gown swishing this way and that, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the éclairs. Her sour expression shifted to one of pure bliss as she stared down at the tray.

  No, no, no, no, no!

  “Oh, Gabi!” Her voice trembled and her eyes fluttered closed for a second, as if trying to resist the temptation. “I-I-I told you that I’m off sugar, remember?”

  “Yes. Actually, these aren’t for you. They’re—”

  The sour expression reappeared, along with fine wrinkles on her brow. “Are you saying I can’t have one? Just one itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny bite?”

  “No, I’m not saying that. I just—”

  I couldn’t finish the sentence. Instead, I watched in horror as those long polished nails reached for the largest éclair on the tray. I yanked the tray back. In doing so, the chocolate-covered goodies went sailing in every direction—in slow motion, no less.

  Nicolette let out a scream just as Demetri and the Fab Five entered the shop from behind us, followed by the Dynamic Duo. A collective gasp went up as the sugary sweets flew high and then took a swan dive, aimed right at the bodice of the bride-to-be’s perfectly altered, beautifully fitting gown.

  Pinching my eyes shut, I braced for the inevitable. Only when Prince William lunged to grab the glass tray from my slippery hands did I open them again.

  He missed, and the tray flew into a mannequin and then dropped to the floor, shattering into pieces.

  I happened to glance up as Nicolette reached out to grab Kitty’s arm to keep from falling. Three seconds later, my question about whether or not the beautiful store clerk wore a hairpiece was answered as a shock of hair went shooting through the air and landed on Demetri’s shoulder. He must’ve thought it was a rodent or something, because the man went berserk, flinging his body this way and that, trying to shake it off and hollering in Russian all the while.

  Somewhere between the Fab Five’s multilingual cries, the Dynamic Duo’s giggles, Scarlet’s profuse apologies, Kitty’s tears, Demetri’s jerking, and Nicolette’s rants, I heard my boss’s announcement that I was fired.

  Not that he needed to voice this aloud, of course. I knew my material girl status had come to its untimely demise the minute I saw Nicolette Cavanaugh’s DDs covered in gooey chocolate. They, like my career, were a catastrophic mess, one that no amount of alterations could fix.

  Pick Yourself Up

  I’m in therapy, and sewing is cheaper than a psychiatrist.

  Author unknown

  Demetri took one look at Nicolette and went into a rage—all of it aimed at me. Me? Did I force the skinny bride-to-be to take the éclair? Of course not! Did I bake the tray of sweets? No way. Still, I took the blame for it all. In multiple languages at once. The Fab Five ranted alongside Demetri, apparently furious that their hours of hard work in designing the gown had ended in chocolate-covered catastrophe. Lydia and Corinne knelt down on the floor, picking up the mess at a fast pace.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught the look of horror on Scarlet’s face. She and Mr. Reporter both looked mortified. Of course, the most mortified person in the room, and also the loudest, was Nicolette, who wailed at the top of her lungs and then flew into a rant about how I’d ruined her wedding.

  Please. The girl wasn’t getting married for months. How could I ruin a wedding in advance?

  “Get your things and go, Gabi!” Demetri’s brows furrowed, and I could hear the anger through the tremor in his voice. He reached down to pick Kitty’s hairpiece up off the floor and shuffled it from one hand to the other. A muscle clenched along his jaw as he looked at me. With a tip of his head, he motioned for me to leave.

  I didn’t respond. Couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to. And who would want to stay under these conditions? Didn’t Cinderella run from the ball when fate handed her an ultimatum? Looked like my appointed hour had come. The proverbial clock had struck midnight and there was no turning back.

  I ran to my tiny closet space, suddenly overwhelmed by all of the stuff crammed inside. What could I take with me? Most of these things belonged to my boss, after all. I grabbed a handful of things—my pincushion, measuring tape, and emergency sewing kit—and glanced at the two dress forms standing in the corner. They were too large to lug out of here in front of a watching audience. I’d have to come back for them later. If I ever worked up the courage to come back. Finally, but most important, I snagged my sketchbook, which I tucked under my arm.

  Deep breath, Gabi. You can do this.

  With my head held high, I marched across the store, doing all I could to avoid the glares from Demetri and the wails coming from Nicolette. Off in the distance I heard Scarlet trying to pacify everyone and Mr. Reporter—what was his name again? Prince William?—asking for details about Nicolette’s upcoming day. And poor Kitty! She stood behind the counter and, with the help of the Dynamic Duo, tried to force the now wild-looking hairpiece back in place. To say it did not end well might’ve been an understatement.

  I made it to the doorway but froze, one foot in, the other out. Inside—a world of chaos and pain. Outside—a yet undiscovered life devoid of a paycheck.

  Taking my first step toward freedom, I drew in a deep breath and then sprinted to my car. I climbed inside, the door clunking to a close beside me. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about dropping the side mirror onto my seat earlier. I sat on it and came up with a start. Tossing it onto the passenger seat, I fought the feeling of heaviness in my chest.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  My car refused to start—the icing on my proverbial cake, so to speak. At this point I stopped fighting it and gave in to the emotion. Flinging my upper body onto the steering wheel, I sobbed like a two-year-old who’d been sent to the naughty corner. How could Demetri humiliate me like that—in front of a reporter, no less? And how could he and the Fab Five blame the chocolate incident on me? Surely he could see that Nicolette was responsible for her own actions. Right?

  Okay, so I happened to be holding the chocolate-covered goodies when she grabbed a piece, but that didn’t make me responsible, did it? Of course not.

  I sat alone in the car, crying it out for several minutes. Every time I thought about leaving Haute Couture Bridal for good, another wave of angst hit me. I vacillated between wanting to smack someone—Demetri, maybe? Nicolette?—and wanting to beg for my job back. Surely I could reason with my boss. Maybe once things cooled down, he would come to his senses. I prayed so. In the meantime, how did I go about dealing with this inexplicable feeling of emptiness and pain that gripped me when I thought about losing my place in the wedding world?

  Minutes later, I heard a tap on my window. I peered through the glass to see Scarlet. I tried to roll down the window—Really? Is the handle jammed again?—and sighed, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

  I could read the apology written all over her face. “Gabi, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t need to say anything.” I hiccuped. “You’re not to blame.”

  “I am.” Scarlet’s cheeks blazed red, which only emphasized her freckles. “I took the éclairs in there. I had no idea Nicolette Cavanaugh would be inside the dressing room, or that she would be dieting.”

  “Looks like she fell off the wagon.” I smiled weakly, and Scarlet laughed.

  “And she took Kitty’s hairpiece with her.” Another laugh followed from Scarlet, but I didn’t find this funny at all. Still, when I pinched my eyes shut, the image of Kitty’s hairpiece landing on Demetri’s shoulder revived my sense of humor and I snickered.

  Scarlet must’ve taken this as some sort of hopeful sign on my part. She walked arou
nd to the passenger side of my car and opened the door. Well, tried to open the door. The broken handle prevented her from accomplishing her goal, so I reached across and opened it for her. She climbed inside. “At least something good has come out of all of this,” she said, giving my beat-up old car a closer look.

  “Oh? Demetri is giving me my job back? I won’t have to tell Mama and Mimi Carmen that we can’t make the rent this month?” I sniffled as visions of my elderly grandmother flooded my mind. Poor Mimi! Would she spend her golden years begging for bread on a street corner because her granddaughter couldn’t hold down a job?

  Scarlet’s cheeks flamed again. “Well, no. Not that. But Nicolette is looking for someone to make her wedding cake. It came up in the conversation as we tried to clean the chocolate off her dress. She thought she’d found the perfect cake shop but didn’t like the samples. It all fell through. I told her about Let Them Eat Cake, and I think she’s interested.”

  “W-what?” I had visions of Nicolette pulling every red hair out of Scarlet’s head, not hiring her to bake a wedding cake. Still, stranger things had happened. Most of them to me.

  “It’s true. I think she’s really going to order from me. I won her over with the Italian cream cake idea. Turns out she loves cream cheese frosting.”

  “I have a feeling she loves anything with sugar in it.” A minuscule sigh followed as I replayed the éclair incident in my mind once again.

  Scarlet gave me a sympathetic look. “Man. Forgive me?” Tiny creases formed around her eyes.

  “For what?”

  “I’m going on and on about my business growing and you’re . . .” She shook her head. “I have to believe that God will redeem this situation you’re going through. This will end well, Gabi. I know it will. Just give Demetri a chance to cool down. He’ll give you your job back. Wait and see.”