“I’m feeling radiant. Isn’t that how people describe a lovely bride?” Her hand fluttered, and the flash from a gargantuan diamond crossed my showroom as Sylvia Rockfort approached.
As usual, I struggled to come up with an appropriate response to her self-aggrandizing behavior. So I settled for a nod and a smile.
Sylvia looked as if she’d just stepped off a movie set. Her auburn hair was straight with just the right amount of shine, and the jeweled belt she wore with a light blue sundress accentuated her tiny waist. She directed one of her glamour-girl smiles my way. “I can’t wait to see my dress, although it probably will need to be taken in around the waist.”
I thought I heard Lorea groan from the back room.
“Lorea will be happy to help make it a perfect fit,” I answered Sylvia with a plastic smile. Depending on who you asked, I had either done something very good or very bad to deserve a bride like Sylvia. Her Hollywood-style wedding at the end of June would bring in a fat paycheck, but would I be sane enough when it was over to cash it? I fidgeted, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on my lime-green blouse.
“Adrielle, I really wish you’d consider trying out my hair stylist.” Sylvia leaned toward me and lifted one of my blonde strands, letting the length of it slip through her fingers. “Not quite curly, not quite straight.”
“It’s called relaxed, Sylvia,” Lorea said as she came to the front of the shop. “You should try it. Adri’s hair is beautiful.”
Sylvia’s blue eyes narrowed. They were set too close together, and the plastic surgeon’s symmetry must have been off when he fixed her nose because one of the nostrils flared in a crooked slant when she was annoyed or angry. I cleared my throat and accidentally elbowed Lorea. “What she means is, my hair stylist thinks it’s beautiful, and I’m not due for another trim yet.”
“Follow me,” Lorea said. “I have everything ready for your first fitting.”
I hung back and listened to Sylvia’s exclamations of delight as she examined the gown, and Lorea helped her try it on. We didn’t have a private fitting room in the bungalow-turned-wedding headquarters, but I had set up a partition which offered the look and feel we were after.
“We’re ready,” Lorea called.
I thought I heard a note of satisfaction in her voice, and when I entered the room I could see why. Lorea held a measuring tape and slowly twirled the bride-to-be in front of our full-length mirror. The satin bodice was tight-fitting against Sylvia’s small waist, and the dress flared at the hip line, flattering her tall physique. Lorea put on a tiny pair of reading glasses she kept on a beaded chain around her neck to magnify her work. She examined the hem carefully.
Sylvia leaned over and looked at the hem as well. “I love the design, don’t you?”
Lorea nodded, and I could see her shoulders relax. “It’s lovely.”
“We need to get a couple more mirrors to do that gown justice,” I said. “You look beautiful.”
“Isn’t it divine?” Sylvia fingered the delicate beadwork on the bodice. “I love how it sparkles. Lorea said it would be bad luck to try on the other gown when this one is so obviously me, but I just have to make sure.”
“I think I agree with Lorea.” I inclined my head slightly and lifted a brow. Lorea shrugged and held up her crossed fingers.
The creamy strapless gown showed off Sylvia’s tanned skin. She had pulled her auburn locks into a chignon for the fitting. Sylvia did look beautiful. Even though she hadn’t been lovely to deal with, it was a nice change to see a smile and relaxed brows instead of the spoiled slant I had come to expect.
“I feel like everything is going to be perfect now,” Sylvia said. “Oh, Adri, I know I’ve been difficult. Things have just been so stressful with Natalie planning her wedding the same time as mine.” Sylvia stepped forward and grasped my hands. “But now it just feels like everything is coming together like I dreamed it would.”
My nerves tingled at the mention of the person Sylvia considered her rival and worst enemy, Natalie Berlin. I hurried to change the subject. “Everything is on schedule, and I’m meeting with a couple new caterers for your bridal shower. I think one of them might be perfect for the theme you’ve selected.”
“What about the country club?” The familiar slant returned. “Will they budge on the time at all?” She straightened, trying to appear taller, but my five-foot-ten inch height couldn’t be matched by her high heels.
My head began to throb. “They were firm about their time frame, but I was able to reserve the club starting at two o’clock as a special circumstance.”
“Wonderful!” Sylvia clapped her hands, and I noticed Lorea’s attempt at a fake smile.
“I’m almost finished, Sylvia,” Lorea said. “The dress seems to have been made for you. Only a few minor alterations will be needed.”
I looked at the gown again. It was beautiful.
“Adri, can you pull out the other gown while Lorea finishes up? My friend Lisa says that she could be getting a ring any day. I thought she might like the other dress.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Lorea interrupted. “It’s the third dress hanging over there.” She pointed, and her eyes seemed to scream at me, Just play along!
My steps were hesitant as I approached the line of garment bags. Each wedding gown was a possibility and a risk at the same time. Did Lorea think that one of the gowns was close enough to Sylvia’s alternate? If so, I hoped she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. For half a second, a part of me thought about coming clean, but I swallowed hard and choked on the painful truth. Lorea knew what she was doing: avoid making Sylvia angry, at any cost.
I would have to play along. The click of the zipper was akin to a timer counting down to an explosion. The dress was eager to escape the confines of plastic and spill its tulle and satin onto the floor. I noted the train on the back and hefted the fifteen pounds of fabric, moving slowly toward Sylvia.
She narrowed her eyes. “That isn’t my backup dress. Lorea, don’t you remember, it had a bell skirt.”
“That’s right.” Lorea nodded. “Hmm, now I remember the problem. That particular dress was discontinued, and there was a mix-up with the order.”
“What?” Sylvia’s eyes flashed with anger. “But we ordered it. How could they discontinue it? And why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
I felt my heart rate increase, but Lorea held up her hand to stop Sylvia’s protest and spoke rapidly. “Tell you what. Let’s get you out of this dress, and you can take a look at the other gowns. I know for a fact that none of them comes close to how extraordinary this gown is, but that way you will know for sure.”
Sylvia’s gaze flicked to the gowns hanging innocently in their dress bags, and then she turned her head and looked in the mirror again. The sneer was replaced with a demure smile. “I think you’re right, Lorea.”
She had echoed my words of earlier, but I knew we had barely missed a diva-sized tantrum. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me.” I wanted to breathe in my own level-headed space for a while.
“Thanks, Adri,” Lorea called. I heard the relief in her voice.
I sat in my office chair and retrieved one of the cream binders with turquoise accents and silver embossed words on the front: Adrielle Pyper’s Dream Weddings, Where happily ever after is your destination. I ran my fingers over the words and smiled. When I designed my shop, I had selected some of Briette’s and my favorite colors to decorate with—turquoise and purple. The signature mix made it easy to recognize my mark on the otherwise boring pages I filled out for my clients.
Each of my clients was assigned a binder when we began preparations for her wedding. I looked at the other three binders stacked neatly on the bookshelf beside the desk and thought about the fifth one tucked away in the office safe. Two weddings during the month of June and three more in July. It didn’t sound like much, but I handled everything from the typeface on the invitations to the musicians playing the couple’s first dance.
A twelve percent commission might not sound like much, either, but with clients like Sylvia Rockfort, a wedding costing 100,000 dollars was well below what her incredibly rich parents thought their daughter deserved. So I put up with Miss Nostril because twelve percent of her projected 175,000-dollar expense sheet would go a long way in my business.
I flipped through a few pages of Sylvia’s wedding binder and glanced back at the safe. The Rockfort-Porter wedding had come to me with only a two-month lead time. Because of the time crunch, I added a rush fee of five thousand dollars. The Rockforts had expected as much and signed the contract happily, which left me wishing I’d charged ten thousand extra.
Several indicators led me to assume I wasn’t selected merely for my skill or charm. Word leaked out that I was planning the prestigious nuptials of movie star Brock Grafton and homegrown Natalie Berlin, which generated some interest in future wedding dates and new clientele. For the Rockforts, it generated a definite need to hire me as their wedding coordinator. Brock Grafton was Sylvia’s ex-boyfriend, and rumor had it that at one time they had been close to tying the knot. Maybe he hadn’t been able to get over that crooked nostril.
When Mrs. Bonnie Rockfort grilled me for details about the Berlin-Grafton wedding, I had to cite client privilege. “You wouldn’t want me telling people your daughter’s unique plans for her centerpieces, would you?” That shut her up, but the Rockforts kept a sharp eye on my list of vendors, trying to analyze which one Natalie would choose so they could best her. That was why I kept her wedding details under lock and key.
Thirty minutes later, I heard Lorea finishing up with Sylvia and decided to check on her. I stepped into the back room. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Actually, yes.” Sylvia pivoted toward Lorea, who was bent over a piece of fabric with a mouthful of pins. “It’s short notice, but I need another bridesmaid dress. My best friend from high school divorced her husband.” Sylvia lowered her voice. “Jeff was my boyfriend clear through senior year. I don’t think he ever got over me.” She sighed. “Anyway, she’s seen the error of her ways and we’re best-ies again—just like the old days. She must be in my wedding.” Sylvia leaned closer to Lorea. “That won’t be a problem, right?”
The inside of my cheek stung from biting it. I couldn’t make eye contact with Lorea or I might say something I’d regret—or worse, my contained laugh might come out as a snort. Lorea’s skin practically buzzed with anger, but she pulled the pins from her mouth and gave Sylvia a stiff smile. “Have her call and give me her measurements, and I’ll get started on it.”
“I just knew you’d come through.” Sylvia patted the top of Lorea’s head. “Such a sweet little thing.”
It was fortunate Sylvia was so oblivious to everyone around her—otherwise she couldn’t have missed the smolder in Lorea’s eyes or the way Lorea flinched when Sylvia patted her head.
“I’m betting the magazine will want to do a feature on my dress,” Sylvia said. “I’ll have my people call their people and get back with you.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Sylvia,” I gushed.
“Ta, ta, darlings.” Sylvia waved, and her twelve-carat diamond ring just missed Lorea’s forehead. I covered a laugh as Lorea yanked another pin from the pincushion around her wrist. After the door closed and I checked to be sure Sylvia was on her way, I turned to Lorea. “So, how did it go?”
Lorea stabbed her pincushion with a needle. “When I envisioned my future as a dressmaker, Sylvia was never in those dreams.”
“We’ll get through it,” I said. “When I lived in San Francisco, there were a few bridezillas I worked with at Bellissima.” I thought about the difference of owning my business. The clients I dealt with on a monthly basis when I lived in California were mostly pleasant and there was always someone to assist me—here it was just Lorea and me. Not to mention that in addition to our current work load of wedding planning, the two of us had decided to venture into the wedding dress side of the business.
Lorea pulled out a dress and grumbled, “If I have to pick out this hem one more time . . .”
I drummed my nails on the counter. “Just think how much Sylvia is paying for each additional alteration.”
Lorea scowled. She adjusted the silver chain holding the Basque cross, each arm of the cross curved, angling into the next in a sweeping pattern. Her frown lines reverted to a smirk. “Not to mention the price of her wedding dress.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes, there is that to consider.”
“But now I have to deal with fitting another one of her lovely friends.” Lorea kicked her shoes off, kneeling on the floor to cut fabric. She wore five-inch wedge sandals so clients wouldn’t tower over her, but she always took them off when she was sewing.
“I’m surprised we’ve made it this far. I thought she would’ve called it off by now,” I said.
Lorea shook her head. “I might win that bet. It shouldn’t be hard to believe, but I can’t fathom getting engaged to try to make Brock jealous.”
We’d discussed our secret theory a few times, but I still wasn’t sure if Sylvia was out to get Brock back or if she just wanted to win the competition for Most Glorious Wedding.
“She doesn’t have a chance with Brock. He and Natalie are a perfect match,” Lorea said. “I wish we didn’t have to deal with Sylvia at all.”
“At least we have Natalie, thanks to you.”
Lorea’s shoulders relaxed when I mentioned the other wedding we were planning, the one for her best friend. “I might quit if it weren’t for Natalie.” She sighed. “But Sylvia’s dress really is perfect. I’m so glad she liked it.”
“It probably helped that you told her it was one of a kind and the most expensive dress coming into the store.”
Lorea nodded, and then she looked at me, her eyes scrunching in the corners as if deciding to share a secret.
“Whatever you want to say, just say it.” I tilted my head in her direction.
Lorea laughed. “I keep thinking about the dress with the organza frills. I know Natalie has something else picked out, but I can just see her in it.” She pulled the measuring tape through her fingers. “Would it be totally inappropriate to ask her to come down and try it on?”
My gaze traveled over Lorea’s head to the gown in question hanging for display. The bodice was fitted, embellished with thousands of sparkling sequins outlining the embroidered roses that reached to the hipline. Then the ruffles started, and I loved every one of them. The lightweight organza kissed the glittering tulle skirt with nearly thirty layers of frills covering the wide bell skirt of the princess dress. Natalie would look exquisite in it.
I sighed. “I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t let her at least see it.”
Lorea grinned, and I noticed her squeezing the pincushion. “I’ll call and tell her it’s my duty as her bridesmaid to introduce her to this dress.” She dashed off to make the call, her reading glasses swinging haphazardly from their chain. A few minutes later, she returned. “Natalie will be here in an hour. She told me she was just looking at bridal magazines, wondering if she really was in love with the dress she was thinking of buying. She sounded so happy I called.”
“That’s great. Can you imagine if we could sell that dress, too? We’d have enough money to pay cash for the next shipment.”
Lorea nodded, and I knew she was mentally calculating how far the gown’s price tag of eleven thousand dollars would take us.
Moving to my desk, I clicked through a few spreadsheets and brought up my to-do list. I enjoyed planning weddings, and working on Natalie’s had been more satisfying than most. But my feelings differed for my other major client. To say that Sylvia’s wedding plans had been exhausting would be an understatement. She had pushed the limits on every aspect of her dream wedding. One thing was certain, though—the Rockfort-Porter wedding would be absolutely gorgeous. I scrolled through my contact list and pulled up Frankie Lawson’s number.
“Hello, you’v
e reached Francesca Lawson, wedding coordinator for the Sun Valley Lodge. We’d love to make your day unforgettable, so please leave a message, and I’ll get back with you soon.”
I waited for the beep. “Hi, Frankie. This is Adri. I wondered if you’d talked to the chef yet about the possibility of making a second wedding cake shaped out of the fourteen different cheeses Sylvia selected. I’ll have some color samples ready for you later today so the crackers don’t clash with the linen.”
Biting the inside of my cheek again, I ended the call. I took my job seriously, but a wedding for someone like Miss Nostril only happens once a decade. I relaxed and let the smile creep across my face as I pictured Frankie laughing when she heard the message. Sometimes I had to remind myself to enjoy the small moments.
“Before you ask, I’m planning to finish Sylvia’s centerpieces by tonight,” Lorea said.
“Are you sure? I can help you.”
“All I need to do is stab another magic wand in each of those hideous things. Don’t worry.”
I shook my head. Lorea hated themed weddings, and the Rockfort-Porter event was all about the magic of true love—celebrity style. Even though the clients were hard to please, I enjoyed the change of pace that went into the details of the wedding plans for a unique celebration.
Taking advantage of the unplanned meeting with Natalie, I arranged the three swatches of fabric we were contemplating for the accent color in the centerpieces. The major decisions had all been made, but Natalie had struggled with selecting the perfect shade of ivory to complete the burgundy and forest green that would highlight the wedding decor.
“A wedding I went to last year had strands of paper roses hanging from the ceiling,” Lorea said as she fitted her dress mannequin with a swath of cream-colored silk. She looked over at me. “Fishing line makes them look as if they are floating in the air. It might be the perfect thing for Natalie’s reception.”
An image of blood-spattered emerald roses filled my mind. Delicate silk roses threaded with silver string. I swallowed hard.
Diamond Rings Are Deadly Things Page 3
