“I want you, too,” Joanie said, and she didn’t recognize her own voice. It was raw, animalistic.
He trailed kisses down her body, and then peeled off her underwear. Joanie gasped as he did to her what Matthew had never done.
“Does that feel good?” Jesse murmured.
“Yes,” Joanie said, breathless. “Don’t stop.”
“I want to be inside you,” Jesse said. “Do you want me inside you?”
“Yes,” Joanie whispered. “Yes.”
She had never wanted someone like this. Jesse took off the remainder of his clothes and Joanie examined every square inch of his body. He was thin and wiry, and his skin was even paler than she’d imagined. He had a small tattoo of a treble clef on his right hip. Jesse leaned down over her again and asked: “Are you sure?”
Without thinking: “Yes.”
And then: pure bliss.
Fifty-One
The seamstress
Paris, 1958
The only thing worse than knowing that she’d never see Robert again was this: having to meet with his fiancée to design her wedding dress. The gown Elisabeth would wear as she walked down the aisle with the man Rose loved.
“I really wish Madame were here,” Elisabeth told Rose.
“She was so very much looking forward to this appointment today,” Julien said. “But when she learned that the seed pearl merchant she’s been trying to get an audience with for years would finally see her, she simply had no choice.”
“I don’t even want seed pearls on my dress,” Elisabeth pouted.
“It’s all part of the creative process,” Rose explained, following Julien’s lead. “Madame seeks inspiration everywhere in the world. While you might not want the seed pearls she brings back from Japan, surely her adventure there will help inform your wedding gown. And make it the dress of your dreams.”
“I should hope so,” Elisabeth said. “Because none of the sketches she’s created for me will do. Not one is right. I suppose that’s why she left you here to do her dirty work and present them to me.”
“I assure you,” Rose began carefully, keeping her real feelings hidden, “Madame created these sketches entirely for you. She thought you would love them.” Rose had spent the entire week creating these sketches for Elisabeth. Rose had pored over Madame’s old dress designs for inspiration, used her signature design elements to make the dresses look like a Madame Michel original. She was proud of what she’d created, though it seemed Elisabeth could not appreciate the enormous amount of work that had gone into the sketches, each and every one.
“I hate them,” Elisabeth said, sotto voce. “My dear Diana was right. Madame’s ideas are old and stodgy. Perhaps you could draw something for me? The way you did for Diana?”
“Of course,” Rose said. But when she put her pencil to the paper, her mind went blank. She could feel Elisabeth’s eyes on her. Watching. Waiting.
“I have an idea,” Elisabeth said.
“If you’ll just give me a moment—”
“You’ll meet me at the ballet this evening,” Elisabeth announced.
“I don’t—”
“Do you have plans?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’s settled,” Elisabeth said, already up from her chair, putting her coat on. “I’ll send a car for you at seven.”
* * *
“I want to look like that.” Elisabeth pointed to a photograph of a ballet dancer, hanging on the wall next to the box office. Rose tried to pay attention, but she was overwhelmed by being at the Paris Opera Ballet for the first time. For a girl like Elisabeth, a night at the ballet was nothing special. But for Rose, it was extraordinary. Something she’d never had the privilege of doing before. And she wanted to take it all in. She wanted to appreciate every moment of her night, every sight, every sound, every smell.
“Of course,” Rose said, finally turning her attention to the photograph. Certainly Elisabeth didn’t mean that she wanted to wear a tutu as her wedding gown. (At least Rose hoped that she didn’t.) Rose considered the design inspiration: how she could evoke the feel of the ballerina, and put that into Elisabeth’s wedding gown, without making it a literal interpretation. “Graceful,” she thought out loud. “An emphasis on the waistline, fitted throughout the hips.” She put her hand on her own waist, hips, as she spoke. In her mind’s eye, she could see the bodice come to life—a thick silk satin in ivory, heavy boning for it to keep its shape. She could hear Madame’s voice ring out with Christian Dior’s famous advice: Without proper foundation, there can be no fashion. That was it! She would create an attached girdle inside, to create the dramatic shape of the waist. It would suit Elisabeth’s curves beautifully.
“Yes,” Elisabeth said, dreamily, as if she could read Rose’s thoughts.
“The tulle, billowing out. Even more beautiful when we make the skirt ballroom length.” She thought back to one of Madame’s early wedding dress designs that had a tulle ballroom skirt. Tons of volume, light as air. Rose would find the sketch when she was back at the atelier.
“Yes,” Elisabeth repeated. “And wait until you see it move on stage. I want to look just like that when I dance at my wedding.” She spun around like a dancer, on one foot, and it made Rose dizzy.
“I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll be expected to wear tights,” Robert said, coming behind Elisabeth and giving her a delicate kiss on the cheek.
“Of course not, you silly man.” Elisabeth fell into Robert’s arms and swatted him playfully. “Rose, you remember my fiancé, Robert, of course.”
Rose had been so caught up in Elisabeth’s spinning that she hadn’t noticed him approaching. She’d had no idea that Robert would be attending the ballet with them. If she had, she surely would have told Elisabeth she was unable to make it. It was one thing knowing Robert was promised to another, but it was quite another to see their love on display right in front of her. She couldn’t bear it.
“Yes,” Rose said quietly. “Of course.”
“Lovely to see you again, Rose.”
“Lovely to be seen,” Rose said, so quietly it was practically under her breath. Had she said it at all? Rose couldn’t be sure.
“We should find our seats.” Robert fanned the tickets out in his hand.
Rose followed behind as Robert walked with Elisabeth, his hand resting on the small of her back, the way he’d walked home with Rose. She watched as he held the curtain open for Elisabeth to pass into their box seats, remembering how he’d done the same for her when they attended the opera together.
How foolish she had been. She allowed herself to get swept up in her infatuation with Robert. He didn’t have feelings for her any more than he might have feelings for the other hired help. The butler, the driver, the cook. There were people like Robert and Elisabeth and then there were people like Rose. How naive she’d been to think otherwise.
Elisabeth settled herself into her seat in the box. It was set up with four chairs, two to a row.
“Why don’t you sit up front with Elisabeth?” Robert said, motioning for Rose to take his seat.
“I couldn’t possibly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Robert,” Elisabeth said, patting the seat next to her. “Come sit next to me.”
“I just want her to be able to see the show,” Robert explained. “After all, isn’t she here to see what it is you want in your dress?”
“I can see everything very clearly from here,” Rose said, settling into the seat behind Elisabeth.
The curtain came up, and the ballet began. Rose tried to keep herself focused on the performance, the costumes that she was there to see. But it was difficult. She couldn’t stop thinking about her night at the opera with Robert. But Elisabeth now sat next to Robert—the seat belonged to Elisabeth. Rose had only been keeping it warm for a short spell.
Elisabeth reached over
and grabbed her fiancé’s hand.
“I should go,” Rose said, as the house lights came on at intermission. “Thank you so much for a lovely evening.”
“You mustn’t leave,” Robert said. “The ballet isn’t over yet.”
“I’ve seen all I need to see.” Her eyes teared up, and she hoped that Elisabeth and Robert would think that it was from the stunning performance they’d just witnessed, and not from her breaking heart.
“Is it clear what you need to do?” Elisabeth asked Rose.
“Yes,” Rose said, nodding her head in assent. “It is perfectly clear.”
Fifty-Two
The bride
Brooklyn, 2020
“I knew you weren’t paying attention.”
“I was paying attention,” Rocky said, like a reflex. She put her phone down and looked up at Drew. She was happy to see him smiling. It had been such a rough couple of months, with the aftermath of his discovery about his birth mother, and he was slowly getting back to himself, bit by bit.
“My parents are already in a cab,” Drew said. “I’ll explain on the way.”
Rocky racked her brain. Drew’s parents, not paying attention...nothing. She was coming up dry.
Drew grabbed her hand as they walked out of their building and then swung their arms, the way you do when you’re a kid. “That day we were at my parents’ house. You were on your phone, but you said you were paying attention. Busted.”
“I’m not busted,” Rocky covered. “I was totally paying attention. Just remind me?”
“My mom and dad made us an offer. I said, ‘Would you like that?’ And you said, ‘I think that’s a great idea.’”
Drew was correct: Rocky was totally busted. She had not been paying attention that day. Not even a little bit.
“Well, what is it?” Rocky said, finally conceding defeat.
“I’m going to let you squirm a bit,” Drew said, laughter in his voice. “It’s something for our wedding, and it’s something you agreed to wear.”
Rocky stopped in her tracks, but it was too late. They were at the restaurant. How had they walked there that quickly?
Something for their wedding. Rocky felt sweat gathering on her brow—not this again. Something else that she was expected to wear at her wedding. First, the dress, and now Drew’s parents had something that was special to them. And she had already agreed to wear it.
Drew held the door open, and she walked through with a smile. Could it be a veil? A tiara? Karen didn’t really seem like the tiara type. Whatever it was, she would just smile and say thank you. It would be fine.
Drew’s parents sat on the back patio, a bottle of wine, glasses poured.
“We are just so excited,” Karen said to Rocky as they hugged hello. It was good to see Drew’s mother happy again. It had been a difficult time for her, too, getting through the news about Drew’s birth mother, getting through the fact that he wanted to find her in the first place.
Rocky pulled out her chair and noticed a gift bag at her seat.
“Open it,” Drew’s father said. He was smiling from ear to ear.
“Yeah, Rock,” Drew said, challenging her with a devilish smile. “Open it.”
Rocky smiled tentatively. She picked up the gift bag and sat down. She took a big swig of wine and then examined the bag. It wasn’t very large, so that was a relief. But what could possibly be inside?
She pulled the first of five ribbons. The wrapping was ornate, and Rocky felt her hands get hot as she negotiated the ties on the top of the gift bag.
Inside, there were two ring boxes. She carefully took them out of the bag and set them on the table.
The rings. Drew’s parents must have bought them wedding bands. Rocky smiled and looked up at Drew and his parents. Such a strange gift, she thought. So personal. Of course, Rocky hadn’t thought about picking out wedding bands yet, so it was thoughtful. But still. How could they know what she wanted?
Rocky opened the first ring box. Inside was a delicate band of gold. Plain with no adornments.
“The rings that we were married in,” Drew’s father gushed, unable to keep it in. “We’re so thrilled that you want to be married in these rings, too.”
So, that’s what she’d agreed to. Using the rings in her wedding ceremony that Drew’s parents had used in their own ceremony.
“I know it’s not as special as a wedding dress,” Drew’s mother said carefully. “But these rings mean so much to me—they belonged to my grandparents—so the fact that you’ve agreed to use them means a lot to our family.”
Rocky opened the other box. Another plain gold band, this one a bit thicker. Drew’s ring. She handed it to her fiancé and he tried it on.
“Perfect fit,” he said, standing up to give each of his parents a big hug and a kiss. “Thank you.”
“In the Jewish religion,” Drew’s father explained, “the wedding band must be unadorned and a simple unbroken circle. It symbolizes a marriage unmarred by conflict.”
“It’s beautiful,” Rocky said, turning it in her fingers, examining every square inch of it, shiny and bright.
“And technically,” Drew’s mother said, taking the ring box from Rocky and handing it to Drew, “we gift it to our son first, and then he gives it to you as a gift.”
Drew took the ring out of the box and held it out for Rocky. She moved her engagement ring over to her right hand and tried the wedding band on. She held her left hand out for a moment to admire the ring. It was so gorgeous in its simplicity. And it fit Rocky’s finger as if it had been made for her.
“So, you think you’d like to use them for your wedding ceremony?” Drew’s mother asked, tentatively.
“Of course we will,” Rocky said. “This is so meaningful. Thank you.” She loved the way the ring made her fingers look long and elegant. She snapped a quick photo and texted it to her grandmother and great-uncle. Her grandmother immediately texted back that she loved it. Rocky knew that her great-uncle wasn’t as good with his phone or iPad as her grandmother, so she made a mental note to make sure her grandmother showed it to him.
Rocky glanced over at Drew. He looked so sexy rocking a marriage band. That’s the man I’m going to marry, Rocky thought, and in that moment, it was as if she could see their future laid out: marriage, children, a house, grandchildren, and the day she would hand these rings down to the next generation.
They had the rings. Now all Rocky needed was something to wear down the aisle.
Fifty-Three
The mother of the bride, as a bride herself
Long Island, 1982
“C’mon!” Matthew called out as he ducked his head into Joanie’s room. “We’re going to be late.”
“I’m not sure I can go today.”
“It’s the End of the Year party,” Matthew said. “You have to go. Everyone goes. Even people who don’t go to NYCU go.”
And he was right. Even nonstudents descended on Hamilton Square Park for an NYCU tradition: the all-day End of the Year party. An excuse to drink beer all day long, make out with that person you’ve had a crush on all semester, and just blow off adult life in general, the End of the Year party was the day that all NYCU students looked forward to.
But Joanie didn’t want to go.
“We need to talk,” Joanie said. She tried to steady her tone, but there was no use. Her voice was shaking. Her whole body was.
“No time to talk. Time to party!” Matthew grabbed Joanie’s left hand and rubbed his fingers along hers. He looked up at her in surprise. “Where is your ring?”
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Joanie said tentatively.
“Did you lose it?” He dropped her hands and looked around the room. “Did it happen just now? I knew I should have called first. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s not it.” Joanie sat down
on her bed, tried to keep herself steady. She wasn’t the type to lose things, and he knew this.
“You lost it sooner? You could have told me. I have insurance.” He looked into her eyes and his face was so open, so honest. Joanie doubted what she was about to say, what she was about to do. After all, wasn’t Matthew exactly the type of person you should marry? Stable. Smart. Dependable. Someone who reacts perfectly reasonably when he thinks you’ve lost your two-carat diamond ring.
Then it hit her: this was the problem. She didn’t want that. Not now, at least. She didn’t want stable. She didn’t want dependable. She wanted excitement. She wanted to live and be young for a little while longer. Wasn’t that why she’d slept with Jesse? Sure, she could say they were caught up in the moment and worried about Mel, that their emotions got the best of them, but that wasn’t the truth, was it? The truth was more simple than that: she wanted to do it. And she wasn’t ready to get married.
“I didn’t lose the ring,” Joanie said, shaking her head. Tears sprang from her eyes as she looked at Matthew. He sat down next to her on the bed.
“I don’t understand.”
Joanie took a deep breath. “Matthew,” she said, gathering her strength. “I can’t marry you.”
“Don’t be silly,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing his thumb across her palm. “Of course you can. I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I don’t want to get married.”
“Are you having cold feet about the whole big wedding thing? We can postpone the wedding, you know. We can push it later, if you’d like,” Matthew said, holding her hands. He laughed nervously. “Or we can just run away together. Ditch the whole big country club thing. All I really want is you.”
“It’s not about the wedding,” Joanie said, getting up from her bed. She couldn’t face Matthew. Not when he was being so kind and she was breaking his heart. “I don’t want to marry you.”
The Grace Kelly Dress Page 20