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“Oh,” I say modestly. “Well, that one was easy. I know exactly how she felt. I have older sisters myself.”
“I see.” Monsieur Henri’s gaze is shrewd as he looks down at me. “Well, I will be interested to see if you can work a needle as well as you work your mouth.”
“Watch me,” I say, plucking the gown from his hands. “Just watch.”
If you are top-heavy, or have an hourglass figure, I have one word for you: strapless!
I know what you are thinking… strapless, at a wedding? But strapless is no longer considered immodest in most churches!
And with the right support in the bodice, this look can be extremely flattering on a top-heavy bride, especially when paired with an A-line skirt. V-necklines are also terrific on large-on-the-top women, as are off-the-shoulder and scoop-neck designs.
Just remember that the higher the neckline, the bigger the boobs look!
LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS™
Chapter 9
Nothing travels faster than light, with the possible exception of bad news, which follows its own rules.
— Douglas Adams (1952–2001), British author and radio dramatist
“A receptionist?”
That’s what Luke says when I tell him the news. For once, he’s gotten home before I have, and is making di
“Right,” I say. I’m sitting on a velvet-cushioned stool in front of the granite-topped bar beneath the pass-through between the kitchen and dining/living room.
“But.” Luke is pouring us each a glass of cabernet sauvignon, then hands me mine through the pass-through. “Aren’t you… I don’t know. A little overqualified to be a receptionist?”
“Sure,” I say. “But this way I’ll be able to pay the bills and still do what I love—for part of the day, anyway. Since I haven’t had any luck finding a paying fashion gig.”
“It’s only been a month,” Luke says. “Maybe you just need to give your job search a little more time.”
“Um.” How can I explain this to him without revealing the fact that I am flat busted broke? “Well, I am. If something better comes along, of course I can always quit.”
Except I don’t want to. Quit Monsieur Henri’s, anyway. Because I’m starting to like it there. Especially now that I know who Maurice is: a rival “certified wedding-gown specialist” who owns not one but four shops throughout the city, and who has been stealing away Monsieur Henri’s clientele with his promise of a new chemical treatment to combat cake and wine stains (no such treatment exists), and who overcharges his customers for even the simplest alterations, and underpays his vendors and employees (although I don’t see how he could underpay them more than Monsieur Henri is underpaying me).
Worse, Maurice has been bad-mouthing Monsieur Henri, telling every bride in town that Jean Henri is retiring to Provence and could pick up and leave at any time, due to his business falling off—which is apparently true, judging from the Henris’ private conversations, which they aren’t aware I completely understand. Well, almost completely.
As if all of that were not bad enough, the Henris have heard a rumor that Maurice is pla
No, even if the Costume Institute calls tomorrow, I plan on sticking around at Monsieur Henri’s. I’m in too deep to get out now.
“Well,” Luke says, sounding dubious, “if it makes you happy… ”
“It does,” I say. Then I clear my throat. “You know, Luke, not everyone is cut out for the traditional nine-to-five thing. There’s nothing wrong with taking on a job you’re maybe overqualified for if it pays the bills and allows you to do the thing you really love in your spare time. As long as you really do the thing you love, and don’t spend all your free time watching television.”
“Good point,” Luke says. “Taste this and tell me what you think.” He holds out a spoon containing some of the juice from the coq au vin. I lean over the bar to taste it.
“Delicious,” I say, thinking my heart just might bubble over with joy. I have a boyfriend who loves me… and is a terrific cook. I have a job I love. And I have a way to pay the rent on the kick-ass apartment I’m living in.
New York isn’t working out so badly after all. Maybe I won’t be A
“Oh, hey,” I say. “We’re going out Saturday night with Chaz and Shari. To celebrate my new job. And because we haven’t seen them in forever. Is that okay?”
“That,” Luke says, stirring, “sounds great.”
“And you know?” I’m still leaning across the pass-through. “I think we should really try to make it a fun night. Because I think Chaz and Shari are going through a tough time.”
“You get that feeling, too?” Luke shakes his head. “Chaz seems pretty miserable these days.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows. I can’t exactly say Chaz seemed miserable when I saw him. But then maybe I was too busy bawling my eyes out to notice. “Wow. Well, I’m sure it’s just a transitional thing. Once Shari settles into her new job, they’ll be fine.”
“Maybe,” Luke says.
“What do you mean, maybe?” I ask. “What do you know that I don’t know?”
“Nothing,” Luke says i
“What is it?” I’m laughing now. “Tell me.”
“I can’t tell you,” Luke says. “Chaz made me swear not to tell.You, of all people, especially.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, pouting. “I won’t tell. I swear.”
“Chaz said you’d say that.” Luke is gri
“Just tell me,” I whine.
And then, just like that, I know. Or think I know, anyway.
“Oh my God,” I cry. “He’s going to propose!”
Luke stares at me over his bubbling chicken. “What?”
“Chaz! He’s going to ask Shari to marry him, isn’t he? Oh my gosh, that is so great!”
And I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner. Of course that’s what’s going on. That’s why Chaz asked me those searching questions about Shari in their place the other day. He was feeling me out to see if Shari had said anything about how living with him was going!
Because he wants to make it permanent!
“Oh, Luke!” I have to hold on to the counter to keep from falling off my stool, because I’m practically swooning, I’m so excited. “This is so fantastic! And I have the best idea for a dress for her… it’s like a bustier, you know, but with off-the-shoulder capped sleeves, in dupioni silk, and with little pearl buttons down the back, totally fitted through the waist, and then pooching out into this totally elegant belled skirt—not a hoop skirt, she wouldn’t like that… Oh, you know, she might not even want a belled skirt. Maybe I should make it more—well, here, this is what I mean.”
I reach for a notepad that his mother has left lying around—Bibi de Villiers, it says on the top of each page, in cursive—and scribble out the design I’m thinking of with a pen from the bank we both use.
“See, something like this?” I hold up the sketch, and see that Luke is staring at me with a mingled expression of horror and amusement.
“What?” I ask, shocked by the look on his face. “You don’t like it? I think it’ll be cute. In ivory? With a detachable train?”
“Chaz isn’t asking Shari to marry him,” Luke says, half gri