by B. B. Miller
Sweet crispy Christ, why can’t he shut up for five seconds? Sydney glances down at her cup, a smile fighting to come out, and then back at me. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. Today’s search hasn’t been very fruitful.” After a peek at her brother, who can’t seem to stop staring at me, she tilts her head and gives me a cryptic smile. “I have a good feeling about you though, Cassidy, regardless of…” She waves her hand toward her brother, who pouts at her. “I still want to see some of the designs I saw on your website. Can we start over?”
Relief courses through me and I return her smile. “Of course.”
Sean claps his hands together and sits forward. “Fabulous! Show us what you’ve got, Fly-girl.”
I shoot him a look, finally making eye contact, which I immediately regret when he gives me another one of those sexy smirks that make my heart thump. Damn. With a shake of my head, I straighten my shoulders and try to focus on my client.
“Okay, if you don’t mind spending a few extra minutes, I’d like to start by asking a little about you. I could slap you in a dress that would look fabulous, but if it doesn’t fit your personality, you’ll never be comfortable in it.”
She looks surprised, but pleased, and nods. I wonder if the other shops she’s visited just threw dresses at her. “Well, I’m an architect—”
“Not just an architect,” Sean interjects, his chest puffing with pride. “She won a RIBA national award two years ago.”
At my confused look, Sydney’s cheeks color as she explains, “It’s a national British architecture award.”
“She developed a plot of affordable, sustainable, small houses. Super-efficient, clean designs. They were brilliant.” Sean’s green eyes glow as he regards his twin. Besides sharing eye color, the two don’t look that much alike until they smile. Then, the likeness is really remarkable. “They’re already building in London and Leeds, with two more sites in Manchester and Glasgow planned.”
It’s impressive, but what’s even more impressive is her modesty isn’t false. Considering the people who hang around my father, I’ve learned to spot the humblebrag from a mile away, and I avoid it like the plague. Sydney’s soft-spoken acknowledgement of her brother’s praise is refreshing…and reassuring.
“What kind of ceremony are you planning?” Riya glides up behind Sean with a fresh pot of tea in her hand. He startles, but she merely smiles sweetly, and I have to bite back a laugh.
“Oh, something small this time,” Sydney comments with a wry laugh, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Assuming we can get Philip’s mother to agree.”
This time. So she’s been married before. Good to know. Generally speaking, a woman’s first wedding is all about the princess dress. Big skirt or ornate headpiece…something they’ve been dreaming about since they were little. Women who are getting married a second time have usually gotten all that out of their system and are looking for something a little simpler. Don’t get me wrong—I can help a woman rock a princess dress. But simpler dresses can be more challenging. And I like a challenge.
There’s a hint of sorrow in her eyes as she says it, although, that somehow strikes me more as grief rather than the pain of a divorce. Whatever her story, this isn’t the time to dwell on it, especially if her first husband died.
I lean forward to draw her attention. “How did you meet your fiancé? Philip, correct?”
Her smile returns, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and the tension in her arms eases. “He’s amazing. He—” She throws a glare at her brother when he snorts at her description, but then returns her gaze to me. “We met at a party…”
We chat a bit more and I learn her engagement has been longer than most I’m acquainted with—almost two years. It’s not because of cold feet; just random circumstances causing delays. Her intended is a lawyer—barrister—with a London firm that handles a lot of civil rights cases. He does sound amazing.
Whereas her flamboyant twin wears his creativity like a second skin, Sydney seems to temper hers with a veneer of forthright civility. I take careful notice of her slacks and the soft scarf draped over her knit shirt. The ensemble is comfortable and stylish, feminine without being fussy. I have a good idea of what to show her and am happy that a few of the designs she shows me on her tablet match.
The hardest part is keeping my focus on Sydney and not on the violet-haired, larger-than-life persona at her side.
“Okay! Let’s get started.”
After a half dozen gowns, we have two solid front-runners, neither of which were on her list when she entered the shop. One is a fishtail with a boat neckline and narrow sleeves, and the other a sleeveless column dress with a lace ribbon at the waist. Both are stunning on her, but—surprise—her brother is the sticking point.
“I like this one better.” He looks her over with a shrewd eye as she stands in the sleeveless gown. He holds his hands up in front of him and peers at her through his fingers, like a viewfinder. “But something’s still not quite right.”
Riya, holding the other gown off to the side, rolls her eyes at him.
“It was a mistake to do this with you.” Sydney huffs with annoyance and crosses her arms. “You’re pickier than I am. What’s wrong with this one?”
“I think it reminds me too much of a Grecian urn I broke a few years ago at a friend’s house.” He gives me a sly glance. “Elton was pissed.”
I mimic his sister’s stance. “Elton? Are you trying to oh-so-subtly infer that you’re friends with Elton John to impress me?”
“Maybe. Is it working?” He stretches his arms above his head, letting me get a peek at his abs when his T-shirt rises a few inches. The sight makes me catch my breath, but I think I manage to keep my expression neutral.
“Not even a little.” I turn my back on his wounded expression to address his sister, who just chuckles and shakes her head.
“You two are just too fun,” I think she mutters, before raising her voice. “Well, I like it.” She turns and looks again in the floor-length mirrors surrounding the small dais she’s standing on. A small frown flickers over her lips. “I think.”
“We’re close, but ‘I think’ isn’t good enough. You need to look at it and know—this is my dress.” I run my hand through my hair, refusing to give up yet. “You mentioned you were thinking of maybe having an outdoor wedding, something simple, right? Does your dress have to be long?”
Her eyes pop open. “No, no it doesn’t. What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll be right back.” I turn and practically sprint out of the salon, across the store, and up the stairs to my apartment. I cross quickly to my private studio and pull a sample off a mannequin. After watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the hundredth time, I had a burst of inspiration for this one. Audrey Hepburn always had such grace and style. Classically beautiful with a hint of whimsy, this design just might work.
Rejoining them downstairs, I usher Sydney back to the changing room. “Okay, this isn’t finished yet, but it will give you an idea. Slip it on. I’ll have to pin you in, because it doesn’t have a zipper yet.” I hold up the muslin prototype in front of her shocked face. “Picture it in silk.”
“O-kay,” she drawls, not sounding convinced. When I hear her gasp from behind the door, I know I’m on to something.
“Let’s see it, Syd!” Sean calls over my shoulder, too close. So close that I lose my balance and stumble back against him. His strong arms slip around my shoulders, holding me firmly to his rock-hard chest. “Steady on, Fly-girl,” he whispers, sending a thrill down my spine. Despite the sudden heat flowing through me, I wrench myself out of his embrace and manage to regain my footing just as his sister swings the door open and steps out. The look on her face says it all.
It’s a retro-styled sheath dress with a raised portrait collar and three-quarter length sleeves. Even in muslin, it’s elegant. It’s feminine without being fussy and shows her long neck to great effect. The prototype is a little big for her, but there’s no doubt
…it’s perfect.
“Now, as I said, picture it in silk—kind of a toasted-champagne color.” I step behind her and quickly insert pins, tucking in a little here and there. “Not because I have anything against second-time brides wearing white, but because it would look smashing with your hair.” I move back in front and touch the edge of her sleeves lightly. “A row of pearl drop buttons here.” I touch again at a spot on the collar. “And a cluster here.”
Riya walks around behind Sydney and raises her wealth of hair from her shoulders so she can see the effect in the mirrors. “A simple roll would look marvelous. And you can adorn it with more pearls and a veil, if you’d like.” Still holding Sydney’s hair with one hand, Riya reaches over and plucks one of our sample veils off a table. She gives it a quick shake then fluffs the short sheath of tulle over Sydney’s head so it floats down in front of her face. Sydney sucks in a tiny breath, staring at herself in the mirror.
“This is it!” Sydney’s smile is like the sun coming up, and I reflexively grin back at her. There’s nothing in the world like finding that one dress—the dress you know is yours.
All three of us turn to look at the tall man leaning in the corner who, for once, is quiet. Instead of the teasing smile or imperious glower he’s worn while appraising the gowns she’s tried, he’s staring at his sister with a soft smile of affection that touches my heart.
“You’re right, Syd. That’s it.” He takes two long steps and envelopes his laughing twin in a hug that lifts her off her feet. Riya claps her hands together, gives me a wink, and then starts to hang up the other gowns. Back on her feet, Sydney swings around to me.
“I’m just so, so… Thank you!” She grabs my hands, her face a picture of joy and relief. “So, now what happens?”
“The hard part’s over. I need to take your measurements before you leave today. I’ll send you some fabric swatches to approve, and then I’ll get to work. I’ll contact you for a final fitting. The whole thing can be ready—” I waggle my head back and forth, considering—“about two weeks before your wedding. How does that sound?”
“Let’s do it!” Her enthusiasm dims, and she bites her lip. “Um, what’s the price tag?”
“Never you mind. I’ll take care of everything.” Sean slips his arm around her shoulder. “I told you, it’s my gift to you. Is there anything else you need? Shoes, slinky things that will make Philip lose his shit that I don’t really want to know about, stuff like that?”
She laughs. “I’m just happy you said his name without yawning.” She gives his side a poke of her finger. “No, nothing else now.”
“Great! Let’s get your measurements then.” I pull a measuring tape out of my pocket and usher her into the large dressing room, Riya following with her notepad.
“So, what’s the damage?” Placing his hands flat on the reception desk, Sean leans across the shiny wood with a devilish smile. I consider—for half a second—doubling the amount just to spite him, but can’t do it. I slide a note card with the price across the desk for him to pick up and examine. His eyes widen. “That’s all? Fly-girl, you’re selling yourself short.”
I purse my lips. There are several digits on that paper. I know exactly what a reasonable price for my work is, and it’s not cheap. Or is he just trying to show off again? “Terms of payment are half now, the rest upon completion. You can either have someone pick it up, or you can arrange to ship it to London.”
“We can discuss the details during dinner tonight. Among other things.” He plucks a credit card out of his wallet and hands it to Riya, who scuttles off to process the payment.
I step back, needing to put more distance between us. “I told you. I’m busy tonight.” Crossing my arms protectively, I try not to flinch when he swiftly steps around the desk and into my space.
“Cassidy.” He stretches my name out, making it sound like liquid velvet. “Cancel the boring git. You know you want to. I’ll take you on a cruise. Anywhere you want to go.”
I look up at him through my lashes. “Are you serious? I can’t afford to take days off for a cruise, even if I did agree to go with you. Which I did not. And didn’t you say you hated cruises?”
He shrugs. “You said you wanted to go on one. I’ll rent a boat just for us tonight. We can cruise the harbor. See the Statue of Liberty all lit up.” He runs a finger from my shoulder to my elbow and smirks when I can’t suppress a shiver. My resolve is slipping, and I lean closer to him, entranced by those hooded green eyes and purring accent. “After all, I just dropped an impressive amount of money in here. Surely that’s worth a little of your time?”
The haze lifts and I freeze, my shiver morphing from one of desire to one of disgust. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. Are you serious? You honestly think I’m for sale? That you need to bribe me to spend more time with you? Like I’m some escort?”
His eyes snap open. “What? No! I didn’t—”
“Hey! Are we ready to go?” Sydney joins us, a sly smile curling her lips, until she sees my eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Here you are, Mr. Murphy.” Riya comes out of the back room and hands him the receipt to sign and his credit card. He grins as if she’s a groupie asking for an autograph, and scribbles on the paper.
“Call me Sean.” He tries to take my hand, but I snatch it away and tuck my hair behind my ear to mask the movement. “And we’re not leaving until you listen to me.”
Sydney sighs. “Sean, what did you do now?”
“Nothing! I was joking! It was a joke!” He holds his hands out, his eyebrows practically climbing into his hairline.
“Hysterical,” I deadpan, checking the clock on the wall when I see a dark car pull up outside. Reaching under the desk, I grab my purse and slip the strap over my head as I move. “Sydney, it’s been a pleasure, truly.” I take her hands and give her a warm smile. “I’m so excited to be able to help you with your special day. I’ll be in touch the next day or two to send you the swatches.”
“Wait a minute,” Sean sputters. “Fly-girl…Cassidy…you can’t possibly think—”
I ignore him and keep talking. “I’m sorry to leave so quickly, but I have an appointment I can’t break. Riya? Can you please help them with their coats and lock up?”
“Certainly.” Riya gives Sean a scathing glare and then moves to the coat closet.
“Thanks, Cass.” Sydney gives me a sad but understanding smile and squeezes my hands before releasing me. “Have fun tonight. We’ll talk later.”
“What the hell? Cassidy—”
The door closes on his stammering, and I walk quickly to where Jack is standing beside a car to help me inside. As we pull away from the curb, I look over my shoulder to see a tall figure staring after us, clutching a black jacket in one hand, and his violet hair glowing in the light of the streetlamp.
Murphy’s Law No. 294: Take chances in your life. You might just surprise yourself.
Sean
“SLOW DOWN! CHRIST, WE’RE NOT running the London Marathon,” Syd shouts from behind me as I stalk down yet another street in Little Italy.
Hauling open the door to a quaint restaurant, I scan the space and come up empty again. “What in the bloody hell are you looking for?” Syd pushes against my chest when I try to leave. “They all have the same thing,” she hisses under her breath. “Pasta, pizza, and wine, which I would like about a vat of at the moment.”
“It’s just not the one.”
Her lips twitch before she looks past me into the restaurant. “Maybe I should be asking who you’re looking for, not what.”
“Just one more, Syd. I promise.”
She shakes her head. “It was just one more four restaurants ago. My feet are killing me.”
I glance down at her boots. Not exactly the kind made for trekking through the streets of New York for any amount of time. “Wear Chuck Taylors and they won’t be.”
“Stop dragging me through Little Italy on a wild goose chase and I won’t have to.”
“There better be.” Syd pokes me in the chest, glancing over at the café. “But after this, no more cannoli or I’ll never fit into my dress.” Syd’s eyes light up. “I can finally say that now. My dress.”
“It is pretty spectacular.” Just like its designer.
“I had almost given up and then—” She gets this faraway look in her eyes. “Fate,” we both say at the same time.
“It seems to be working overtime today,” I mumble, steering her out of the restaurant and to the curb. Cannoli is required.
“I don’t think I can move,” Syd complains, leaning back against the booth, patting her stomach. “I ate my weight in these.”
“They were damn good.” I stretch my legs out under the table, glancing to the rain-soaked street outside. I wonder where Cassidy is. If she’s actually enjoying her meal, the company. The thought of her spending time on a date with someone else annoys me.
“Just ask me for it,” Syd says after giving my boot a swift kick, drawing my attention back to her.
“That hurt!” I rub my shin under the table. “What am I asking you for now?”
“Cassidy’s number. I have it.” Syd grins at me over the top of her espresso.
“Do you now?” I try to sound uninterested.
“Mhmm. You know? So she can give me updates while she works on my dress. You want it?”
I tear at the paper napkin on the table and shred it into tiny pieces. “Course I do, but I want her to want to give it to me. I don’t want to have to pilfer it from you.”
Syd shakes her head. “And you say women are complicated.”
“You are! I mean come on. I’m standing right there, and she just leaves.”
Syd tilts her head, regarding me in that shrewd way she’s always had. “She had a date, it would seem.” I scowl at her nasty reminder. “You know, the entire world doesn’t revolve around you. People have lives that carry on just fine without you.”