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
