by Beth Merlin
There he was. Perry Gillman listed next to the cast of his hit West End show, Elizabeth. Of course he’d be asked to perform a song from Elizabeth. It was the hottest show in the world right now.
Perry’s idea to tell the story of Queen Elizabeth I using not just period music but also rap, hip-hop, and R&B ballads had turned the theater world on its head. So had his push for diverse casting. There were rumors Beyoncé was taking over the lead role of Elizabeth I when the show transferred to Broadway in a few months. When he first told me his idea to marry all of these styles of music in one show, I’d thought he was crazy. But then I remembered his brilliant Color War songs where he mixed different genres to create something new and completely original. He was a musical genius, and it didn’t take long for the theater world to notice. Now, getting a ticket to Elizabeth was nearly impossible, and scalpers were charging thousands of dollars to people desperate enough to see the show. It was nominated for almost every Olivier Award it was eligible for, and in just the last few weeks, Perry’d graced the cover of most major magazines and newspapers.
I skimmed through a few more pages of the dossier to the guest lists and saw Perry was also invited to several of the wedding events. Either his celebrity was just that stratospheric, or he was a close personal friend of Victoria or Prince Alexander. Maybe both of them? My head was swimming.
I laid back down on the pillow and stared up at the popcorn ceiling before looking over at the nightstand clock. It was almost two a.m. I wasn’t sure if it was jet lag or knowing Perry was only a few blocks away, but I was wide awake. I turned on the TV and flipped through some channels before landing on the Top Designer finale episode, where I lost to Kharen Chen. I picked up my phone. It was only eleven in the States. I knew Alicia’d still be awake.
“You’ll never guess what I’m watching,” I said as soon as Alicia picked up the phone.
“Doctor Who?”
“The final episode of my season of Top Designer.”
“Why are you torturing yourself like that? Did you lose to Kharen yet?”
“I’m about to. Charlotte Cross is just going to tell me what a promising designing career she’s sure I’ll have and give me the double kiss goodbye.”
“Well, she wasn’t wrong. You are in consideration to design the wedding gown for the future Queen of England.”
“Shhhhh,” I hissed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Jamie told me our phones could be bugged.”
“He’s crazy, and you’re even crazier for believing him.”
I stood up and poured myself another glass of wine. “Is he? Victoria’s camp is making us sign a confidentiality and nondisclosure agreement around the wedding dress details.”
Alicia laughed. “Did you just breach it by telling me that it exists?”
“We didn’t sign yet. It’s with our attorney for review.”
“Ahhh, so you’re having your father look it over?” she said.
“He’s the best. Not to mention free. We’re still building a business.”
“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time. How’s London? Perry’s face must be plastered everywhere. He was on the cover of the Arts and Leisure section of the New York Times this weekend. I left a large coffee ring around it just for you.”
“Billboards and ads for the show are all over London as if it needs any more hype. I stepped off the sidewalk and almost got taken out by a red double-decker bus with an Elizabeth banner across the side of it.”
“Are you going see it while you’re there?”
“Like I could even get a ticket if I wanted one.”
“All you’d have to do is call him.”
I opened the window curtain and looked out onto the quiet street. “He doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know.” I closed the curtain and sat back down on the bed. “I should let you go. I shouldn’t have called this late.”
“I was up. Sloane will be wanting a midnight snack soon.”
“I still can’t believe you have a daughter and she’s almost four months old already.”
“Is it normal I can’t stop staring at her? I just sit in her room and stare at her.”
“Very normal. Especially when a baby’s that beautiful. She’s your twin.”
“Really? When I look at her, I see Asher.”
“She’s you. The green eyes and wisps of blonde hair. How can you not see it?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t. When are you back?”
“A couple of days. I wanted to do a little sightseeing before coming home.”
“Let’s do dinner or a mani when you’re back. Baby’s crying, I should go. I’ll see you next week. Night.”
“Night, Alicia.”
I hit the off button with my thumb, placed the phone on the nightstand, and settled back into bed. The Top Designer finale was over, but worse, the reunion show was playing. Naomi Campbell had just introduced a montage of our first challenge, episode “Code Wed,” where the designers were asked to create wedding gowns using nothing but toilet paper. Poor Jamie—almost years later and it was still tough to watch him struggle through this challenge. I fell asleep right before Naomi started questioning him about what it felt like to get booted off first and woke up to him knocking on my hotel door.
“One sec,” I mumbled.
“It’s eleven, Gigi. You promised me we’d be at Harrods by noon,” Jamie shouted through the door.
I unlocked the deadbolt and let him in. “Sorry. I had trouble falling asleep last night.”
I couldn’t help but look him up and down. He looked impeccable in an ombré mohair Gucci sweater, Dsquared2 jeans, and a different pair of studded Louboutin loafers than he’d worn the day before.
I shook my head. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
I motioned toward him. “Look like that?”
He kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “It’s called a shower.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Nice, Malone. You sure you don’t want to do some real sightseeing, like the Tower of London or Hampton Court Palace, today? Get some more inspiration for the royal wedding?”
“I agreed to go on that downtown abbey tour with you tomorrow, didn’t I?”
“It’s Downton Abbey, not downtown abbey.”
“Aren’t we saying the exact same thing?”
I shook my head. “No, we’re not, but fine, we can do whatever you want today.”
“Harrods, then Harvey Nics. If there’s time, the rest of Bond Street.”
“Let me just take a quick shower. I can be ready in five. If Camp Chinooka taught me anything, it’s the art of the quick shower,” I said with a smile.
When I got out, I threw on jeans, a white button-down, and my newly acquired Burberry trench. The coat had been a bit of a splurge but now seemed like a good investment piece if we were going to be spending so much time in London. I grabbed my purse from the floor and phone from my nightstand. I quickly scrolled through my emails.
“My father responded about the contract,” I yelled to Jamie from the changing room.
“And?” he called back.
I walked back into the main room. “He says it’s all pretty standard, and we should sign if we want the job.”
“So, let’s make this official.” He yanked the contract out of the large manila envelope and handed it to me.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You realize what a huge commitment it is—it’s going to take time away from our other collections and clients.”
“Gigi, this is the finish line. This is the type of opportunity designers spend their whole careers dreaming of. This will change everything for us.”
I inhaled deeply and looked him square in the eye. “I know.”
He took the contract from my hand and scribbled out his signature. “Your turn,” he said, handing it back to me.
I closed my eyes, and before I could change my m
ind, signed on the dotted line.
We went down to the front desk to ask for a courier service that could return the agreement to Gemma Landry’s PR firm. The concierge picked up the phone to call the messenger and handed Jamie another envelope that had been delivered to our attention that morning.
I stood up on my tiptoes and peered over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
“No idea,” he said, slitting it open with the letter opener from the desk. He pulled out the beautiful cream and gold-leafed stationary.
Ms. Goldstein and Mr. Malone:
Please take these two tickets to tonight’s performance of Elizabeth as a token of my appreciation. Thank you for making Victoria’s dreams for our wedding day come true. I very much look forward to meeting you both.
Yours,
Alexander
Jamie held up two tickets. “Box seats.”
“No.” I ripped them from his fingers and stuffed them into my bag.
“You know how hard these are to get. Gigi. The Prince of England personally invited us. We have to go.”
“It was a gesture. We don’t have to accept it.”
Jamie held the letter up to my face. “Alexander said he looks forward to meeting us both.”
“I don’t think he means tonight. He probably just means at some point in the next few months.”
“Give me your phone,” Jamie said, motioning for me to take it out of my bag.
“What for?”
Jamie put one hand on his hip and reached out his other one. “Just give it to me, Gigi.”
I reluctantly pulled it out and handed it to him. He scrolled to Gemma’s name in my contacts and stepped a few feet away. Although I couldn’t hear her end of the conversation, when Jamie said, “I look forward to seeing them later this evening,” I assumed Gemma had confirmed Victoria and Alexander would be in attendance.
Jamie walked back over to where I was standing and slipped the phone back into my bag.
“They’ll be there, although they aren’t sitting in the same box as us,” he said. “Victoria doesn’t want to bring any more attention to the fact we’re in consideration for the gown.”
“We better get going, then. I guess I’m gonna need an outfit for tonight.” I turned to Jamie. “So tell me. What does a girl wear to meet up with the former fiancé she may still be in love with and the future King and Queen of England?”
He put his arm around me. “I’m not sure, but we’ll find it on Bond Street. I promise.”
Chapter Three
Several hours and tried-on outfits later, I found myself in the most incredible open-backed black and nude vintage Givenchy lace dress. As I examined myself from every angle, I couldn’t find one thing I didn’t like about it until I caught a glimpse of the price tag.
“Gigi, I’m dying out here,” Jamie said from outside the changing room door.
I came out of the dressing room and did a twirl. “What do you think?”
He set his glass of champagne down. “I think it’s perfect. Tasteful yet sexy. Just the right amount of skin.”
I held up the tag. “It’s eleven hundred pounds.”
“Considering all the things this dress has to accomplish, it’s a bargain. Pay for it, and let’s go. We don’t have much time to get ready.”
I sat down next to Jamie. “What am I doing? Perry won’t want to see me. We haven’t talked in months. Not since I sent back the ring.”
“You should’ve kept the ring. I know a jeweler in Sheepshead Bay who could’ve turned it into a killer pair of earrings.”
I threw back the rest of my champagne. “No, no, that ring was in exchange for a promise that never came to be.”
Jamie squeezed my shoulder.
“So, this dress?” I said, trying to change the subject. “What do you really think?”
Jamie moved away to take in the full look. “I don’t think we could have designed anything better. You look ravishing.”
I took a step toward him and placed my hand on his forearm. “Thank you, friend.”
As soon as we got back to the hotel I made a beeline to one of the blowout bars around the corner and begged them to slot me in. An hour later I had the most perfect beachy waves as the cab dropped us off in front of Her Majesty’s Theatre and the large marquee for Elizabeth. We fought through the huge crowd hoping to win the nightly ticket lottery and got in line to go inside.
Jamie pulled out his phone. “Let’s take a selfie.”
“Seriously?”
“I promised Thom we’d document tonight. He’s beyond jealous that we’re seeing Elizabeth.”
After six years of their on-again, off-again relationship, Jamie and Thom finally got married last summer. It was a beautiful and intimate wedding right on the beach in Montauk. I’d never seen Jamie happier than he’d been this last year, and he’d recently confided that he and Thom were looking into surrogates to try having a baby.
“Hey, have you seen any of these?” Jamie asked, pointing to the posters of scenes from the show that lined the walls outside the theater. “I hate to say it, but Perry Gillman sure looks good in a pair of breeches.”
I turned to examine the picture more closely. He looked better than good—he looked right off the cover of a Harlequin. Perry’d cast himself in the role of Robert Dudley, Queen Elizabeth’s rumored lover and closest confidant. He’d played the part during all the workshops and the investors had loved his portrayal so much, they encouraged him to take it on when the show hit the West End. In its short run, he’d already established himself as a bona fide star.
We made our way inside the theater, and an usher directed us to our box. I peeked over the railing. There wasn’t one empty seat in the house. Prince Alexander, Victoria, and Victoria’s arguably even more beautiful and fashionable sister, Annabelle Ellicott, were seated several boxes over from us, with security posted on both sides. I settled into my chair and flipped through the program. The first few pages told the story of Elizabeth’s inception, starting with Perry’s writer’s block through his major breakthrough and the completion of the show’s original concept album.
I closed my eyes and was transported back to our small apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. The Gordy award sitting on our fake mantle, Perry at his keyboard holding his tape recorder, asking me to step away from my drafting table to listen to a new song or lyric for the show. I couldn’t have predicted what a phenomenon Elizabeth was going to become, but as the show continued to develop, we both knew he was doing something completely brilliant. I remembered how we’d acted out every part—Elizabeth I, Mary, Queen of Scots, William Cecil, The Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Dudley. Admittedly, I wasn’t up on my British history, but it didn’t matter. His interpretations and music were so captivating, he not only made the past come to life but made it relevant to our own times.
I flipped through a few more pages to the cast bios and acknowledgments. Perry’s was peppered with academic qualifications, composition awards and recognitions, regional and local theater credits, and in bold, the one acting triumph I’d never expected to see: Fiddler, Fiddler on the Roof, Milbank, PA. I sucked in a quick breath and sank down into my seat. The lights of the theater dimmed, and I looked up from the program. Jamie grabbed my hand, squeezed it, and gave me a reassuring smile. As the familiar first notes of the opening number floated up from the pit and the white spotlight hit Perry, dressed in period costume, his wavy hair pulled off his beautiful face, my heart burst in two.
The first act went by in a flash, ending with Elizabeth I’s coronation and the imprisonment of Mary Queen of Scotts. Perry’s complex lyrics and modern melodies had the audience on its feet half a dozen times. His performance as the lovelorn Robert Dudley was so layered and heart-wrenching, I was sure at least half the women in the theater were in love with him by the time the curtain fell indicating the end of Act I.
When the house lights came up for intermission, I barely noticed. Jamie called my name at least four times before I heard him.
“I’m good,” I muttered.
“I’ll be right back then.”
I reached into my bag to pull out my compact mirror and felt a tap on the back.
“I’m really fine, Jamie, just get whatever you want,” I said without turning around.
“It’s Gemma Landry,” she answered.
I stood up to greet her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were Jamie. He just walked out to get something to drink.”
“Are you enjoying the show?” she asked.
“Very much. Please thank Victoria and Prince Alexander again for the tickets.”
“You’ll be able to do that yourself. They sent me to invite you to join them backstage after the show.”
“Oh, um…that’s very kind of them. I’ll see what Jamie wants to do. We have an early day tomorrow. We’re doing the Downton Abbey tour of Highclere Castle.”
“Victoria really wants to introduce you to her sister, Annabelle, and also Perry Gillman.”
I blinked hard. “Victoria knows Perry Gillman?”
Gemma placed her finger over her lips. “Annabelle’s been seeing him for a few months, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Annabelle Ellicott is dating Perry Gillman?” I asked, my voice going up to an octave I didn’t know I was capable of reaching.
“I know. Isn’t it amazing they’ve managed to keep it from the press?”
I sank down into my seat. “Truly, I had no idea.”
“I don’t know which sister is luckier in love—both of them snagged princes.” She laughed at her own joke. “Anyway, when the show’s over, just come to the backstage door. Your names are on the list.”
The house lights flickered and a voice came over the intercom, letting the audience know it was almost the end of intermission.
Gemma looked up at the ceiling. “I should get back to my seat.”