Fantasized by You

by Steph Nuss

  “Oh yeah, I forgot about the interview I did with the paper,” I said, watching her carefully. She was smiling and her brown eyes were happy, masking whatever information she held. What wasn’t she telling me? “So, what’s the catch?”

  Her smile faltered and she looked taken aback. “What?”

  “What aren’t you telling me? Why won’t you tell me anything about her? You know I like to know as much as possible about the people working for me.”

  “Well, she won’t be working for you,” she said, avoiding my questions. “Mentors usually aren’t paid. They volunteer their time. That’s what’s so great about a mentoring program!”

  “Ellyson …”

  She pursed her lips tightly and sighed, closing her eyes. “She’s a fashion designer.”

  “No,” I replied firmly. “Absolutely not. She’s not mentoring in my fucking clinic if she works in fashion.”

  “But Mav—”

  “No, Elly!” I stood up and looked down at her, and she glared right back at me. “You don’t get it. That industry fucked Camille up. I’m not going to let anyone in fashion come into my clinic and fuck that place up, too.”

  She shook her head at me and stood up. “No, Mav, you don’t get it! Nobody made Camille do what she did. You didn’t know her before she got involved in the fashion industry. She could’ve been making herself sick for years before she became a model. It’s not the industry’s fault. Yes, there were probably stressors that contributed, but nobody stuck their fingers down her throat and made her purge. She did that all on her own.”

  “And now you want me to allow someone who’s going to bring those same stressors into my clinic to mentor the patients?”

  “She’s not going to bring those stressors with her,” she retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s easy to rely on doctors and therapists to treat patients, but a lot of positive treatment comes from mentors. People who have been in the patients’ shoes. People they can relate to and ask questions. It’s like a mini support group between the patient and the mentor. Plus, mentoring would help her, too. She’s learned how to open up to her family and friends. She needs to continue opening up, and she came to me with this idea, so that’s really saying something. She’s ready. She’s ready to open up to complete strangers and help them through something she went through.”

  “What if she relapses?” I asked, raising my brows at her. “What if the clinic and the patients make her crave that lifestyle again?”

  “We’ll debrief her. We’ll make sure that, at the end of the day, she’s healthy, too. That she isn’t letting anything get to her.”

  I shook my head and scratched the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Elly.”

  “Look, I know you already don’t like her simply because of her career choice, and, personally, I think that’s really shitty of you because you don’t even know her, but I’m not asking you to like her. I’m asking you to believe in her. Your clinic is going to be full of people who need people to believe in them. The patients need to believe they can get better. The mentors need to believe they’re strong enough to help someone else get better. If you can’t do that, then maybe you shouldn’t be opening up a clinic!”

  She turned around and gathered her things up off the floor, and then she pulled her sweatshirt over her head and started to storm off, in typical pissed-off-Elly mode.

  Way to go, Mav.

  “Elly!” I shouted after her. She stopped and turned around, raising her brows in question. “My office. Eight o’clock. Monday morning. Bring her.”

  What the hell am I doing?

  Chapter Two

  Harper

  Once upon a time, I would’ve been jealous of my brother, Carter, right now. He found the love of his life, and now he was settling down, planning his wedding, and thinking about having babies. But right now, as I rode the elevator up to his and Elly’s home, I was glad I wasn’t that kind of person anymore.

  In rehab, I learned to let go. To stop trying to plan every aspect of my life. To stop trying to be the perfect person the eldest sibling was always expected to be. I’d learned to accept the things I cannot change. Like the fact that I was turning thirty in two months and still hadn’t found the love of my life yet, or the fact that I didn’t have two children running around my house like I dreamed about. I knew I could work on making myself available for those things, but I couldn’t plan for them. That was why I had the word “serenity” tattooed on my wrist: to remind me to accept life as it came.

  And I was finally happy and accepting the way my life was going.

  Okay, that wasn’t completely true.

  I could accept my life. I was even having fun trying to find love. But what I couldn’t accept was the fact that I never experienced the big O unless I was by myself. I’d been with a few of Hollywood’s hottest men, and I still had nothing to scream and shout about. When I finally found the one, he was going to have to deliver!

  It’s pathetic, but these were the things I thought about … when alone … in an elevator.

  The elevator finally came to a stop and the sound of the doors opening distracted me from thoughts of my nonexistent love life. I walked into the penthouse and when I saw Elly and Tessa seated on one of the leather couches going over wedding stuff, my mood instantly changed.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and Elly asked me to come over to finally see her mom’s wedding dress. I’d been begging to see the gown for weeks. I was dying to get her in it and start designing. I loved taking something old and turning it into something new. Elly was a little worried about its preservation, but I knew I could handle it no matter what kind of condition the dress was in. My future sister-in-law would have the wedding dress of her dreams, no matter what.

  Elly popped up from the couch when she heard me walk into the living room. “Hey! I didn’t even hear the elevator. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” I said, giving her a hug. “How are the wedding plans coming?”

  “Oh, they’re coming,” she laughed.

  I glanced over at Tessa and she shook her head, as if I shouldn’t ask about it, which made me smile. I’d met Tessa and Paige a few weeks ago when Elly hosted a girls’ night at her old apartment, and they’d quickly become my new best friends.

  I sat down in the armchair next to the couch and pulled out my sketchbook. I carried it around more cautiously than I did my actual purse. A sketchbook was a designer’s lifeline. I grabbed a pencil from my purse and smiled at both of them. The second I heard that Elly agreed to marry Carter, I offered to design the dresses. “Are we ready to talk dresses?!”

  “Absolutely!” Tessa said, opening her binder of wedding info. It was color-coded and everything an organization-junkie like me craved. “Let’s talk bridesmaids’ dresses first and get them out of the way, and then we can move on to the main event: Elly’s dress.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, opening my sketchbook to a blank page. “Okay, so, Elly, tell me what kind of dresses you want us to be in. Matching? Not matching? Color? Length?”

  “Well, our colors are peach and charcoal, so I’d like the dresses to be charcoal and short,” she said, “but if you want to do a peach sash or some peach tulle underneath the dresses, that’d be fine. I also thought that each bridesmaid could wear a different dress. All of you have such different styles. I want you to be comfortable on the wedding day and like what you’re wearing.”

  “Harper could put us in potato sacks, and I’d still wear it,” Tessa said, making the three of us laugh.

  “True,” Elly said.

  I smiled and continued scribbling down my notes. “Okay, I know Bayler’s size and my size, but I’ll need Paige and Tessa’s sizes. I can usually ballpark with a picture, but if you have exact numbers that works best.”

  Tessa pulled out a sheet of paper from her binder and handed it to me. “Paige’s information is at the top, and mine is listed at the bottom.”

  “I also had them write down what qualities they like
in short dresses so you could have a sense of their styles,” Elly said, pointing to the paper. “As you can see, Tessa is a little boho chic and Paige is more classic. I know you and Bayler have different tastes, too, so that’s why I thought it was best if you each had something tailored to your liking.”

  “I like that,” I said, slipping their information into the folder of my sketchbook. “It makes the wedding party more unique.”

  I made a note to call Bayler about her dress.

  “Now,” Tessa started. “As you know, Elly’s a little worried about her mom’s dress.”

  I nodded. Elly let me read the heartfelt letter from her mom over Christmas, and I absolutely loved that she’d saved her dress for Elly. I was a sucker for anything vintage. I was eager to see the style and condition of the dress. The better the condition, the easier it would be to work with, but I’d make it work either way. “I’d love to see it.”

  Elly wrinkled her nose and winced. She was so nervous about it. “First, I want to show you a picture of how I want my wedding dress to look. Tessa found this amazing Vera Wang gown and I instantly fell in love with it, but I want your opinion before I show you my mom’s dress. It might not be the right kind of dress for me.”

  “It’s the right kind of dress, trust me,” Tessa said, flipping through her binder. The way she knew more about Elly than Elly knew about herself made me smile. “Here it is.”

  I looked at the collapsed A-line peach gown and nodded. It was absolutely beautiful, but, then again, anything Vera made usually was. It was doable, too. I loved the scalloped organza skirt and the veiled tulle. “I really love this. I think it will look great on you. What were you worried about?”

  “I’m worried about being a redhead in a peach gown!” Elly said, laughing and shaking her head. “I mean, do you really think it’ll look okay?”

  “Yes, Elly,” I said, reassuring her. “This blush, peachy color is in now, and I think your pale complexion against the soft tone of the dress will be perfection. You’ll look beautiful. Plus, I love that it’s not your typical white wedding dress. I know white is traditional, but I think you’ll look better in this.”

  Elly lit up at my appraisal and Tessa laughed. “She had to hear that from a fashion designer before she believed it. I’ve been telling her that since she got engaged!”

  I smiled and pulled Elly off the couch. “Now, go get your mom’s dress. I’m dying to see it!”

  Reluctant at first, she finally opened the closet. Over the holidays, Elly had told me how she was thinking about wearing a peach gown, and I’d heard the hesitation in her voice. Most women could pull off any look as long as they wore it with the right amount of confidence.

  She came back into the living room carrying a big cardboard box and set it on the floor. “So, I’ve only seen pictures of her in her dress. I’ve never actually seen the dress out of this box until now.”

  No wonder she was trying to delay. I could practically feel the anticipation filling the room as the three of us sat there waiting to see the gown. Elly cut the seal and then sat back on her heels staring down at the box. This couldn’t be easy for her.

  I knelt down on the rug next to her.

  “What if it’s not preserved well enough?” she asked, running her hand over the box. “What if I’m not able to use it? Is there something you can do to make it usable?”

  I gave her a hug and I felt her take the deep breath she needed, and then I answered her. “Well, there’s no window on the box, which is a good thing. That means the light couldn’t get in and affect the color of the dress. I’m sure your mom wouldn’t have told you to use her dress if she didn’t know it was preserved to perfection.”

  She nodded and then slowly slid the box open and unfolded the acid-free tissue paper. We pulled out the vintage silk and rayon dress. It was a bone color, and I knew I’d be able to dye it a little darker to make it the peach Elly wanted. The dress’ shape was simple, a delicate A-line, just like the base of the Vera Wang gown Elly loved. It also had intricate beading along the sweetheart neckline and along the bodice. It was sleeveless, with a lace scoop neck that carried the same elaborate beading as the rest of the dress. It was gorgeous and perfectly preserved, just like I thought it would be. I knew I’d be able to turn Elly’s mom’s dress into something similar to the modern Vera Wang Elly wanted to wear. I was already itching to get it into my studio so I could start working.

  Tessa cleared her throat and looked at Elly and me. Elly was trying to hold back tears, and I was in awe of the dress and its preservation. It looked like her mom had just worn it yesterday and then put it in the box for her daughter. “Well, what do you think, Harper?”

  I turned my attention to the girls and gave Elly a huge smile. “I think I need to see the bride in it!”

  Tessa and I laughed, but Elly shook her head, refusing to slip into the beautiful gown. “No. Not happening. What if Carter comes home? Isn’t that bad luck?”

  “No, because this isn’t the dress he’s going to see you in when you two get married,” I said, holding the dress up higher. “It’s going to be the base of your dress, but I’m going to make it look very similar to the Vera Wang one you fell in love with. Okay?”

  She nodded and then took in her mom’s gown again and sighed. “But I have to put it on now?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking for the zipper. “I have to see you in it to see if I need to make any sizing changes … even though it looks pretty close to your size already.”

  “Seriously?” Elly whined, wincing as she looked back and forth between Tessa and I. “I haven’t tried on any wedding dresses because I’ve been waiting for today. I’m not ready.”

  Tessa shook her head and then moved over to Elly. She grabbed the hem of Elly’s shirt and started pulling it over her head. “I don’t care if you’re ready. You are getting married in four months. Four months! Harper has to get started on this wedding dress if you want to be able to have your mom’s dress look like something from this decade on your wedding day.” She got Elly’s shirt off and then started working on her jeans. “So, you’re gonna get out of your clothes and get into the dress so we can get shit rolling. Okay?”

  Elly stood there in shock with the button of her jeans undone and the fly unzipped. Tessa snapped her fingers, making Elly shimmy out of her jeans quicker. “Okay, okay, Jesus.”

  “Well, you act like we have all year to cry over this stuff,” Tessa said, writing down more notes. “You can cry when your wedding is over. Until then, no more crying or whining or anything unless I tell you to.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Elly laughed, saluting her.

  When she was finally down to her panties and bra, she stepped into the dress. Her petite frame slipped into the gown with ease and I zipped her up. Elly had her eyes closed the entire time, and I could tell she was holding her breath. I buttoned the dress at the back of her neck and smiled. A perfect fit. Just like I thought it would be. “Well?” Elly asked, cringing with her eyes still closed.

  “Tessa, is there a full-length mirror around here you could grab real quick?” I asked.

  She nodded and ran down the hall. When she came back, she had the mirror and a box of Kleenex in her hands. “Figured we’d need these.”

  I smiled and took a deep breath while Tessa situated the mirror in front of Elly. “Okay, Elly, open your eyes.”

  She peeked with one eye first, suspiciously peering at herself in the gown for the first time. Then she opened her other eye, and a smile spread across her face as she took in the beautiful sight of herself in her mom’s gown. She ran her hands down the fitted bodice and along the intricate beading. She looked down at the collapsed organza skirt and laughed. “I can’t believe how similar the dresses are. My mom’s and the Vera Wang one I like.” She looked in the mirror one more time and smiled brightly, relishing in the moment. “Can you really make this into my dream dress without destroying too much of my mom’s?”

  I nodded and matched her smile. “Absol
utely.”

  We heard a sniffle and turned to find Tessa wiping away tears with a tissue.

  “Hey, didn’t you just tell me there’s no crying in wedding planning?!” Elly teased, poking Tessa on the arm, and I couldn’t help but join in when she started laughing. Tessa looked like a raccoon with her mascara running down her cheeks.

  “You just look so pretty,” Tessa said, wiping her eyes.

  Our laughter ceased when we heard footsteps making their way toward the living room. We turned to find Carter walking into the room. His eyes were glued to Elly as he sauntered over to his bride-to-be with a huge smile on his face. God, I love seeing him like this: in love and completely happy. I hope I find what they have someday.

  Elly met his gaze in the mirror and watched him walk up behind her. He ran his hands down the bodice of the dress and then grabbed Elly’s hands and linked them with his. He ran his nose along her neck and whispered loud enough for Tessa and me to hear, “You are the most beautiful bride.”

  She turned and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. “And you are the sweetest fiancé.”

  He laughed and kissed her deeper, until he remembered they had an audience. “Well, I’ll let you ladies get back to it.” He shot Tessa a nod and then came over to me and gave me a hug. “Thank you for doing this for her. It means the world to me.”

  I smiled and squeezed him tighter. “You both mean the world to me, too. I’m more than happy to do it.”

  He pulled away, smiling, and then called for Stag. My adorable four-legged nephew jumped up from his bed in their living room and quickly followed Carter down the hall. Ever since I met Elly’s dog, I’d been contemplating getting one of my own. He needed a cousin, and I wanted a puppy to raise.

  “Okay, so everything with the dresses is settled, then,” Tessa said, crossing one thing off her list.

  “What about your mom’s dress?” Elly asked, looking at me.

  I knew she was going to ask about Mom’s dress today. Mom called me the second she heard I was doing the dresses and started detailing everything she wanted for her mother-of-the-groom dress. I knew Elly wanted to wear peach so when Mom said she wanted the same, I tried changing her mind, but Lucy Jennings was, as usual, already dead set on wearing peach.