With our bellies full, we pull up by three o’clock in the afternoon in front of Payton DeVaughn’s bridal shop. Since my luck’s been shitty this morning, I hope third time is the charm and I’ll find the perfect dress here. Colette insisted on booking Payton last because she said it was important for me to see what I don’t like first so I know what will speak to me. Her gut says my dress is somewhere in this shop and I hope she’s right.
Payton DeVaughn is a hot American designer who’s been living in Paris since she graduated from the Fashion Institute of Design & Merchandising in LA. She moved here as Jason Yi’s apprentice, crossing the Atlantic to expand his brand and piggyback on his massive and unexpected success after the former First Lady of France selected one of his designs for her first visit to America with her husband President Charles Lambert-Tallien. After five years of dedicated work and with Jason’s blessings, Payton launched her brand two years ago and she’s never looked back since. According to Colette, socialites, starlets and chart-toppers from all over the US and the UK fly to Paris to get a chance to wear Payton’s dresses. I don’t consider myself to fall under any of those categories, but I’m thrilled I have a chance to wear something unique on my big day.
I’m inside one of the fitting rooms at the back of Payton’s shop already trying dress number four and I’m starting to get quite discouraged. The first three weren’t to my liking and by the grimaces on both Harley and Sofia’s faces, I wasn’t the only one who felt I was still off the mark. My mom, who’s still on her honeymoon in Kenya, called in via Skype on Sofia’s iPad a few minutes ago to find out if I’d had any more luck than I had in the morning, but my disappointed face told the whole story. She couldn’t make it in person, so she committed to call us every thirty minutes for an update. Since Internet connections aren’t the greatest in Africa, it’s easier that way. It’s only a one-hour difference between Paris and Kenya and this allows my mom to be part of an important day while still enjoying her new husband.
Payton’s assistant Marie-Claire is helping me get into my dress since the designer has a very strict rule about avoiding mirrors inside dressing rooms.
“I surely hope this next dress works,” I lament as the satiny fabric slides over my head.
“Personally, I think with your statuesque physique, they all looked beautiful on you, but it’s a question of choice. You have to love the dress or else it just wasn’t meant to be yours,” she says with a very strong accent.
“Just like the man, you know when it’s the one.”
“Absolument,” she cheers in agreement. “I see it every day, women trying desperately to make a dress fit, when it’s blatantly the wrong one. And you know what the funny thing is? I’ve often found that this sense of desperation comes from their relationship. Too many women are willing to make a square peg fit into a round hole by settling for the wrong guy.”
Only in France could you have this type of deep and intimate conversation with a stranger. The French are never afraid to tackle the touchiest subjects head on. Even though I’m sure I look ridiculous with the dress still around my neck, standing there in my underwear, I’m riveted by her story.
“Have you?”
Marie-Claire stops playing with my dress and holds my gaze. She nods. “His name was Paul-Antoine. Everyone around me told me he was all wrong for me, but I ignored them. Maybe I should have waited a little more because I was so young—I still am—but of course, I was madly in love. I could not play dumb anymore when the truth was staring me in the face.”
“What happened?”
She smirks and shakes her head. From her reaction, I’d say her wounds are still very fresh.
“After leaving work early, I walked in on him and my then roommate being intimate with each other two months before our wedding.”
“What a jerk.”
“A what?”
“Un imbecile.”
“Oui, tout a fait.” She nods. “Paul-Antoine was an idiot, but when you look like I do, your options are limited.” She shrugs. “I would have been married a little over a year now,” she confesses, lowering her eyes. “I’m sure someone as gorgeous as you must have never experienced this kind of heartbreak.”
My God. Are we ever hard on ourselves as women. I think Marie-Claire looks adorable, but there must be so much more than meets the eye for her to put herself down like this.
“Trust me, we’re all willing to be blind when we want to. I also suffered from a severe case of desperation and I paid the price for it.”
Marie-Claire brings up a lot of not-so-pleasant memories flooding to the surface.
“Obviously you’re here for new beginnings.”
“I am,” I say, grinning from ear to ear like I always do when I think of my big day.
“I should learn to be less French and more positive like you Americans.” She smiles. “Enough about bad men and bad memories. We need to get this dress on you so you can go take a look at yourself.”
Payton feels a wedding dress can only be appreciated when the bride-to-be steps on a podium in the middle of her show room surrounded by mirrors so she can catch a full glimpse of herself. Since Marie-Claire is even shorter than my sister and my best friend, she’s standing on a chair tugging at the tight, fitted design as I try my best to wiggle into it without ripping it apart. Once she finally manages to zip it up, I stop breathing.
“I know I had a heavy lunch, but I’m going to suffocate in this,” I say, holding my tummy.
“It is supposed to be very close to the body.”
“Perhaps, but nothing else will ever fit in this dress.” I’m struggling to breathe. “The second I sip one drop of water, I’ll expose myself in the middle of my own wedding. I’m sure this will rip open,” I say, pointing at the seams.
“Why don’t you step outside and we’ll have a better look?”
Unconvinced, I open the door, eager for Harley and Sofia’s opinion.
My sister and my best friend are comfortably seated with one leg crossed over the other, swinging their dangling designer shoe from their toe while flipping through a few fashion magazines, but their attention zooms straight to me the second I appear. A pang of anxiety hits the pit of my stomach when I catch their freaked-out expressions. Gosh. Not even Payton, who’s standing near the podium, can hide the fact that this dress is all wrong for me.
“Did they sew that on you?”
“I know, Sof. It’s more revealing than I’d like.”
“Holy crap, Ci, I’m all for showing your assets, but I think you need to tone it down on the day of your wedding.” Harley has been preaching “the tighter the better” for years now. For her to say that, it means this dress is even more form-fitting that I thought.
Payton says, “I had you try this elongated design because you’re very tall and I’ve sold it to so many models, but unlike their ruler-straight physiques, you have some serious curves in all the right places and unfortunately I have to agree with your sister and your best friend, it’s too much. It’s taking away instead of adding. Why don’t Marie-Claire and I go to the backroom and see what else we can find for you.”
I’m so relieved to hear her say that. “So I’m not crazy? This isn’t appropriate?”
“No.” Payton purses her lips and shakes her head. “Even though I love every single one of my creations, this is definitely not the dress for you. I want you to wear my design with pride. Give me a few minutes. I’m certain we can do much better.”
As the designer and her assistant walk away, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll leave the third shop of the day empty-handed.
“This isn’t as easy as I would’ve thought,” I say, smoothing the expensive fabric, doing my best to hide my disappointment. My plan was to spend the rest of the weekend hanging out and having fun with Harley and Sofia, but at this rate, it seems that I’ll be stuck running around Paris searching for my dress.
“Isn’t this a far cry from when you went shopping for a dress for your wedding with Luke?”
“God, Sof. It’s day and night.”
What I have with Nik is so solid. It’s nothing like what I stupidly thought I had with Luke. I know things have been dicey with Nicoline because our vision for my big day differs, but it’s nowhere near the toxic relationship I had with Patty Mae Rutherford—well, not yet, anyways. Let’s hope she takes the fact that we’re cancelling the Copenhagen wedding in stride.
“Aren’t you happy it is?”
“Damn right. It’s incredible how different this wedding is compared to the first one that never came to be.”
“What kind of dress did you buy back then?” Harley asks.
“Although Luke’s family was wealthy, his mother would’ve preferred to burn all of their fortune instead of even giving me a dime for our wedding.”
“Yeah, but they were from the South and isn’t it a tradition for the bride’s family to fork out the money?”
“Nowadays most couples pitch in from both sides, but Patty Mae, aka my ex-monster-in-law, made it a point that she wouldn’t be responsible for anything other than paying for her dress and Luke’s tux. Emilio had a decent job, but we weren’t rolling in dough. I had a very limited budget to work with and since Luke’s mom kept adding more and more guests to the list just to be spiteful and because she knew this was a heavy financial load for my mom and dad, there wasn’t much left for my dress. So really, the first time I did this was a breeze compared to this. I only tried a couple dresses before picking one.”
“Harley, we’re talking about Ciara the Amazon here,” Sofia says. “She ended up buying this beautiful budget-friendly dress at a trunk show. I remember we got up at the crack of dawn to catch the subway for our long ride to the Fashion District. Since there were a limited number of these types of discounted dresses, it was first come, first serve. We got in. There weren’t any changing rooms and there was only one small mirror for dozens and dozens of desperate brides-to-be. It was a madhouse. You name it—women fighting over dresses, others stealing each other’s gowns right from under their noses, and a lot of drama. After trying three dresses, Ciara picked one that looked stunning on her. It might have been only a few hundred dollars, but on her it looked like she had spent tens of thousands on it.”
“You remember everything,” I say.
“How could I not? I took in every moment. It was a big deal for me because my baby sister was leaving home.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t spend much more on it, because I ended up burning it along with everything else that belonged to or reminded me of that scumbag after he dumped me,” I add flatly.
I’ve come a long way. After unexpectedly bumping into Luke a few months ago and seeing him for who he really is as opposed to the fantasy I created in my head for so many years, I was finally able to let go of any negative feelings towards him. It’s not that I forgive him for what he’s done to me, but it’s now part of my past. I have too much to look forward to instead of dwelling on a man who didn’t love me enough to stand up to his precious mother.
“Ci, from what you’ve shared about Luke, he never deserved you at all,” Harley says. “You need a man with balls who’s willing to fight for you. Not a crybaby without a backbone who’s willing to cut you out because he’s afraid Mommy won’t give him his monthly allowance because she doesn’t feel his wife is Southern enough. Who the hell needs that? Nikolaj’s a real man. The two of you were made for each other. I know he landed in your lap when you weren’t looking, but I think he’s a rare gem compared to your ex.”
Just the mention of my man’s name stirs up so many emotions in me. He only left yesterday morning, but even one day away from Nik is becoming more and more difficult to bear. “I knew there was a reason why we were best friends,” I say, teary-eyed, shimmying awkwardly towards my best friend, fully conscious of my limited range of movement. Harley springs from her seat, runs to me and we hug for a long time until Marie-Claire and Payton interrupt us.
“Ciara, I hope you’re not crying because you hate the dress that much?”
I look up, worried Payton might confuse my tears of joy for tears of frustration, but when I read the amusement in her gaze, I realize she’s teasing me.
Without breaking my embrace from my best friend, I put Payton at ease. “Nah. Colette said you were a magician and from the long list of testimonials from your happy brides, I think it’s a matter of time before I slip into the right dress.” I smile, wiping away my tears. Harley takes a step back and looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, as if the velocity of her eyelashes batting together will dry her tears.
“Yeah, we so need to get her a drop-dead couture for her big day,” Harley chimes in before sitting down again next to my sister.
Sofia hasn’t left her seat. She’s simply looking at me, soaking in every minute of seeing me sappy as hell.
“Ciara, I think you’ll love this one.” Payton and Marie-Claire are holding dress number five. There’s such hope in their eyes. “It’s not available for sale yet because I’m still working on it. It’s nearly there, but what can I say? I’m a perfectionist. This one is a more demure version of the dress I designed for Heather Donahue.”
I widen my eyes, shocked at Payton’s admission. Holy shit. “It was your dress?”
Heather Donahue is the modern-day Julia Roberts. She’s America’s new sweetheart and her movies top the box office to the tune of seven hundred million dollars for each one of her release weekends. She tied the knot six months ago to Christopher Hendrickson, lead singer of the Dublin Heights, the biggest international rock band since U2.
“Yes. It was a departure from what I usually like to create, but Heather is a huge star and her husband’s pockets are lined with money, therefore budget wasn’t even a consideration. It’s rare for a bridal designer to be able to go all-out like that. She spared no expense—beaded crystals, pearls, an eye-popping tiara and a long embroidered veil that could’ve put Princess Diana’s to shame. On top of that, I designed the dresses for all eight bridesmaids and the one for the maid of honor.”
“It was so over the top.” Harley frowns while shaking her head. “I remember Heather’s nuptials were featured everywhere… and the price tag on all that extravagance… insane, I tell ya.”
“Harley, you’re right,” Payton says. “It was in every fashion magazine, blog and every celebrity TV show. It boosted my notoriety like crazy and it’s the priciest creation I’ve done to date. Just like Heather, it was definitely one of a kind.”
Freaked out by Harley’s reaction and Payton’s description, I’m reluctant to giving this dress a try. “Payton, I don’t want anything that flashy. It’s not the statement I want to make when I walk down the aisle.”
Payton hands the bodice of the dress she was holding to her assistant and walks towards me. She grabs my hands in hers and tilts her head up to meet my eyes. “Don’t worry, Ciara. This new design is much more refined. I’ve removed all the noise, aka anything screaming look-at-me. What’s left is a gorgeous and sophisticated dress that will help you create an elegant princess moment on your epic day. Call it a hunch, but I believe this one will suit you to a tee.” She smiles warmly.
“I agree,” Marie-Claire says, positioning the dress in her arms so I can take a better look at it. “Ciara, I think once you have it on, you’ll be blown away. I saw it last week on a model as Payton was putting the finishing touches to it and it’s spectacular.”
I open my mouth to respond, but my sister jumps into the conversation. “Payton, your description has got me so excited. It’s been a long day for my sister and I hope with all my heart this one’s the one.” Sofia stands up and takes a few steps to get closer to admire the dress. “Ci, I love these.” Sofia runs her fingers over the delicate appliqués before meeting my eyes. “I bet you it’ll look twenty times better on you than on that starlet.”
Contrary to Payton, Marie-Claire and Sofia, I’m a bit apprehensive. After all, I’ve already been in here for two hours with little luck so
far, but what the heck, I have nothing to lose. “Marie-Claire, let’s give this one a try.” The petite assistant beams, delighted by my response.
Payton squeezes my hand. “You won’t regret it.”
I turn on my heel and shimmy back to the change room. As I wiggle away from the show room, Payton, Sofia and Harley snicker behind me.
“I can hear you. I’m still in the room,” I throw over my shoulder. I’m sure I must be quite the sight in this impossibly tight dress.
Once inside, Marie-Claire unzips me and I can breathe again.
“One more minute in this,” I complain, brushing my hand over my stomach, “and I was going to turn purple.”
“You’re so funny.” She laughs. “You should be able to breathe more comfortably in this next one,” she says, handing me design number five to try.
I grab it from her, ready to slip it over my head, but I stop when my sister calls out my name. “Isn’t it hilarious that even though Mom still worked at Bergdorf Goodman until recently and she had the best fashion discount ever known to mankind, you still decided not to get a dress there?”
I’m not sure why I get on my toes to answer, but I do. It’s as if those extra inches will help transport my voice. “You forget, sis, we always break from tradition. You got married on Bryce’s long-time friend Contessa Mariella Borini Mozzetti’s yacht and the only thing you had to do was show up since Mom, the contessa and I took care of every single detail while you were enjoying your husband in Bora Bora for seven days and you guys didn’t show up on the boat until the eve of your wedding. Regardless, I’d say it was a huge success.”
“I won’t argue.”
Marie-Claire gestures for me to get the dress on and I obey, but I’m still too involved in the conversation to pay attention to this newest design.
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