S'more to Lose

by Beth Merlin

  First Published by Ink Monster, LLC in 2017

  Ink Monster, LLC

  4470 W Sunset Blvd

  Suite 145

  Los Angeles, CA 90027

  www.inkmonster.net

  ISBN 9781943858101

  Copyright © 2017 by Ink Monster LLC

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Also by Beth Merlin

  The Campfire Series

  One S’more Summer

  S’more to Lose

  Love You S’more – Coming July 17, 2018!

  For M & H

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  I flipped through the channels for the umpteenth time. How was it possible that in one of the nicest hotels in London, the TV only had a dozen channels and two of them were currently showing reruns of my season of Top Designer? I threw the remote on the bed and picked up the phone to order room service when there was a knock on the door. I rushed over to answer it. I’d been counting down the hours ‘til Jamie’s arrival. There was no way I was getting through these next few days without my partner.

  “Whoa, look at you. Did you change in the car?” I asked as Jamie gave me his usual European kiss on each cheek.

  He rolled his carry-on into my room. “No? Why?”

  “You flew wearing that Burberry three-piece suit and those studded Louboutin loafers?” I shook my head in amazement. Only Jamie.

  “Let’s talk about your outfit, darling. It’s almost noon—why are you still in your bathrobe?”

  “I tried going out for some coffee earlier, but there are paparazzi everywhere. How do they even know we’re here?”

  “The London tabloids are the worst. Your hotel phone is probably hacked. I hope you haven’t been talking to anyone about the dress.”

  I looked over at the phone on the nightstand. “Are you serious?”

  “It’s supposedly illegal now, but to get the inside scoop on the wedding of the century, I wouldn’t put it past any of the papers.”

  The wedding of the century. That phrase had been echoing in my brain from the moment we got the call letting us know our design house, G. Malone, was among Victoria Ellicott’s top choices to design her wedding gown. Jamie and I were in London to present her with our sketches and, if selected, start the collaboration process.

  “Okay, now I really need that coffee. Can you pass me my sunglasses from the nightstand? I’m gonna have to take my chances outside.”

  “What has you so stressed out?” Jamie handed over the frames. We got through all the awards shows this year, didn’t we? We survived New York Fashion week. This is just another job.”

  “We were asked to design a dress for the future queen of England. This isn’t just another job! You thought the dress we did for the Oscars got a lot of media coverage? This dress will get about a million times that. This dress will be part of history. We will become part of history.”

  Jamie rummaged around in the mini bar. “Here,” he said, handing me a small bottle of Kahlúa. “Slip this into your coffee later. Liquid courage. This isn’t about the dress, is it?”

  I shrugged.

  “Does Perry know you’re in town?”

  “According to you, everyone knows we’re in town. But if you’re asking whether I told him I was coming to London, then no, I didn’t.”

  He tilted his head to the side and his eyes softened. “Why not?”

  I shot him a look. “You know why not.”

  Jamie put his arm around me for a quick, supportive squeeze, then left to check into his room. We met up a few hours later for a snack and debrief session on how we were going to approach our meeting with Victoria Ellicott.

  Victoria was not only marrying the very handsome and sought-after Prince of England but was, in her own right, an established fashion icon. Born into a well-respected, wealthy British family with all the right connections, Victoria had spent most of her life in the spotlight and had been an “it” girl long before she caught the prince’s eye. From the reports, Prince Alexander had been pursuing her for years before she finally decided to give him a chance. He’d even been given the nickname “Love ’em and leave ’em Lex” by the press, who liked to comment on how fast he blew through girlfriends and relationships. Once he started seeing Victoria, though, all that changed, and it hadn’t taken long for the world to see he was head over heels in love with her.

  Jamie’s original ideas for the wedding gown were pretty over the top. He wanted something elaborate and ornate. A one-of-a-kind creation that could only be worn for a wedding of this magnitude. I wanted to keep it simpler, focusing on Victoria’s beauty and the traditions of the day. After some heated arguments in our New York design studio, we finally agreed on four sketches that incorporated elements of both our styles. Per her publicist’s orders, we’d come to London prepared to present our top options.

  Over afternoon tea at The Wolseley, Jamie and I carefully examined each sketch, making sure we could address any concerns or questions. We looked over our fabrics and discussed potential alternatives in case Victoria was unhappy with our choices. Around four, we left to meet Victoria at her parents’ home in Kensington, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in London. The paparazzi was already camped outside the house gate when we arrived.

  I cracked open the taxi door. “The wedding isn’t for months—what are they hoping to get a picture of?”

  “Us, I guess. She’s been meeting with a few designers. I heard Vegas is even taking bets on which one she’s going to pick.” Jamie pushed his phone back into his pocket and slid toward the door.

  I still couldn’t believe G. Malone was in the running. To say our first two years in business had been a struggle would be putting it mildly. We used every last cent of my second-place winnings from Top Designer to get the company off the ground. We started small, running a website out of my studio apartment and selling specialty evening pieces and wedding gowns. The first year, we barely broke even. Perry played piano at a nearby jazz club just to help cover rent. By year two things started improving and some high-end boutiques and retail stores began carrying our line.

  Things had really taken a turn when last year’s Best Actress winner wore G. Malone to the Oscars. Suddenly, the world knew our brand, and investors came calling. We had enough financial backing to put together a show for Fall Fashion Week. The show was highly praised and enthusiastically covered by the press, even landing us on the cover of W Magazine. The company more or less exploded after that and we were finally able to move our company out of my apartment and into a proper design studio.

  While I knew we were on the fast track to an IPO, I never in a million years expect
ed we’d be considered for a dress of this level of importance and magnitude. I’d been pinching myself since we got the call from Victoria’s team and now that we were actually in London for the presentations, the enormity and importance of the opportunity was taking hold.

  I pushed my hair behind my ears and tried to swallow down the large lump in my throat. “This is insanity. You know that, right?”

  Jamie was grinning from ear to ear. He loved this kind of attention. Really, he loved any kind of attention, but limelight of this degree was once in a lifetime.

  We ran to the gate and were quickly ushered inside the property by a security guard. The house was incredible. Set back from the street, behind its own landscaped front garden, the Victorian façade was both elegant and contemporary.

  “She moves from here to Buckingham Palace?” Jamie said. “Rough life.”

  “I don’t think they’ll live in Buckingham Palace, but point taken.”

  Before I could ring the bell, a petite blonde woman opened the door and introduced herself as Gemma Landry, Victoria’s publicist. She led us down several hallways to a beautiful glass-enclosed sunroom, where Victoria was waiting to greet us. She was even more stunning in person than in any of the photographs I’d ever seen of her. Standing at about five-foot-eight or nine she had a model’s figure and gorgeous light brown hair that fell in waves to her shoulders, perfectly complementing her big hazel eyes. She was dressed effortlessly in a YSL white blouse I’d seen go down the runway during Fall Fashion Week and impeccably tailored black pants I guessed were from Zara. Victoria was famous for her ability to mix high-end and low-end pieces, and it wasn’t uncommon for the items she was photographed wearing to sell out at stores within minutes of the picture going viral.

  Victoria gave us each the obligatory double kiss on the cheek and invited us to sit. She told us her mother would be joining us in a few minutes to look at the sketches and asked if we wanted any tea. Gemma jumped up and handed each of us a huge leather-bound book with the word Wedding embossed in gold on the cover.

  “This is your dossier for every event being held in celebration of the wedding,” Gemma said. “In it, you’ll find brief descriptions of the venue, the theme, the guest lists, and the general attire. This should help you get a sense of the different pieces we’ll need.”

  “Different pieces? I thought we were just in consideration for the wedding dress?” I said.

  “We told the press we were speaking to several designers to throw them off track,” Victoria said, “but I’ve known I wanted a G. Malone dress from the first time I saw you show at New York Fashion Week two years ago.”

  Gemma continued, “Victoria will need several different gowns for all the dinners and parties that week, as well as some less formal day pieces for the teas and other receptions.”

  “And you want us to design all of them?”

  “I may mix in a few other designers, but I want there to be a continuity to my looks that week, almost like each one is building toward the finale.”

  “I see,” Jamie said, his eyes sparkling with possibilities. He loved that kind of theatricality.

  “We didn’t come prepared to show you much more than the wedding gown sketches.” I reached for our portfolio cases and passed them to Jamie.

  “That’s fine. When you’re back in town next time you can bring the rest,” Gemma said.

  Jamie unzipped the case and pulled out our four sketches.

  “Perfect timing.” Victoria stood and greeted a woman I assumed was her mother as she entered the sunroom.

  “Hello, I’m Margaret Ellicott,” an elegant, older woman, wearing a navy and cream Chanel pantsuit said through a warm smile. She shook my hand and then Jamie’s before taking a seat next to her daughter on the couch. They looked very much alike, and there was no question Margaret had been every bit as beautiful as Victoria at that age, if not more so.

  Jamie handed the stack of sketches to Victoria, explaining that we attached swatches of the fabric choices we felt would best serve the designs, but any of it could be changed to suit her taste.

  I watched as the two of them carefully studied each option, whispering to one another as they flipped through the deck.

  Victoria shook her head and smiled broadly. “You guys are it. I love everything about your aesthetic.”

  “I agree,” Margaret said. “Simply breathtaking.”

  “Like Jamie said earlier, if you don’t love any of the fabric choices, those can be changed”

  “I’m not sure my gown is in this specific grouping of sketches, but I’ve seen enough to know you guys can create my dream dress,” Victoria said with tears in her eyes.

  “Wow, that’s really incredible to hear, right, Jamie?” I looked over at him. His mouth was hanging open, but no sounds were coming out. He was in shock. “So, what happens next?” I asked, turning to Gemma.

  “When you get back to the hotel, there’ll be a nondisclosure and confidentiality agreement waiting. A copy was also emailed to you. Have your attorneys read it, sign it, and get it back to us. I don’t know what you know about the London tabloids, but they are unscrupulous and will go to any length to get the scoop, especially when it comes to the royal family. It’s very important to Victoria that she maintains the element of surprise. Nobody can know you’re designing the wedding dress. From now on, you and Jamie should take different flights to London and stay in different hotels. My team’s going to leak to the press that we’re considering having Valentino design the gown, and that should buy us some time.”

  “We’ll all have to meet for feedback and fittings, though,” I said.

  “We’ll find secret locations to do that. You and Jamie will have to arrive separately, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jamie chimed in like we participated in these type of covert fashion operations every day.

  I started making a mental list of all the moving pieces involved in creating what was essentially an entire collection for Victoria Ellicott. For an event of this size and scale, we’d need to source unique fabric and textiles from all over the world. We’d have to partner with the best ateliers across Europe for one-of-a-kind embellishments and accessories. My head and the room were spinning.

  “It’s going to take some time to get the textiles created and beaded, but we can be back in a few weeks with some options,” I said.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Margaret said.

  “And what about the rest of the looks?” Victoria asked.

  “Right. The rest of the looks. Are we allowed to take the dossiers with us?” I asked.

  “Yes. They’re mentioned in the confidentiality agreement. It goes without saying that we expect you to guard them with your lives,” Gemma said.

  “Of course,” Jamie chimed in again.

  Victoria jumped off the couch and pulled me in for a hug. “I am so excited! I just know the two of you are going to wow the world with what you create.”

  Her exuberance caught me off guard, but I squeezed her back before pulling away, trying not to let her see the panic I was sure had registered firmly on my face. Never in a million years had I expected us to get the gig. I thought for certain she’d thank us politely for our time and decide to go with a more experienced label. I looked over to Jamie. He was calmly packing away our sketches like we’d just finished up a meeting in our studio.

  We said our goodbyes, and Gemma escorted us out to the front. She handed Jamie a card and told us to call with any questions and that she’d be in touch regarding the next location where we’d be rendezvousing. Then, a security guard picked up a phone to call for a car before escorting us out of the iron gates.

  “Did she just say rendezvousing?” I asked, sliding into the black cab.

  “She most certainly did,” Jamie answered.

  I lowered my voice so the driver wouldn’t hear. “Jamie, I don’t know how we’d say no to this kind of opportunity, but this just seems, well…huge. Too huge, maybe. I mean, the confidentiality agreements
and staying in different places. Having to rendezvous?”

  “Are you crazy? Four years ago we were standing at Camp Chinooka, deciding if we should take the leap and start our own label. We took the leap. Now look around at where we are. We have to do this.”

  “It’ll be all-consuming. We might end up having to move here for a few months.”

  “Would that be the worst thing? We could do a few months in London. Design the wedding pieces, maybe get new inspiration for the fall line.”

  “Not the worst thing, no.”

  He put his arm around me and pulled me into his chest. “It’s a big country, Gigi. You can avoid Perry if you want to.”

  “London’s a small town, and he’s the toast of it. You don’t think our paths will cross?”

  “Only if you want them to. Do you want them to?”

  I pressed my face against the car window and muttered, “I don’t know what I want.”

  “Well, I want this. The chance to design the wedding gown of the century and play James Bond while we’re doing it—sign me up. I just need my partner. What do you say, partner?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Okay, I guess I’m in.”

  Chapter Two

  Later that night, I curled up in the hotel bed with a glass of pinot noir and the wedding dossier. I flipped through the first few pages of events—mostly teas and luncheons for the out-of-town guests and close family—and jotted down some ideas for daytime dresses and suits. Then, I turned to the pages dedicated to the five-hundred-guest reception at Buckingham Palace and read through the lengthy descriptions of each wedding event. Cocktail hour would be held in the candlelit palace courtyard, where bagpipers would welcome guests. Following cocktail hour, the guests would be escorted into the palace ballroom for dinner and toasts. After that, they’d be ushered through to the throne room, which would be transformed into a nightclub complete with a stage, dance floor, and cocktail bar.

  I picked up my notebook and made some notes about the three outfit changes just for the reception alone. No question Jamie would be chomping at the bit to get his hands on designing the dress for the club. I flipped the page and ran my finger down the list of artists set to perform. Madonna, Elton John, and Adele were among the confirmed acts. I skimmed down farther and stopped at his name.