Diva (The Flappers) - By Jillian Larkin Page 0,57

turn this shop into storage for his golf clubs, he’d—”

Clara left Lorraine to her tirade and wandered farther into the store, past more racks of dresses, and peered through a doorway into a circular room with multiple full-length mirrors. Sweet little lavender couches to match the walls were gathered around a platform where Anastasia now stood.

Marcus’s fiancée was even more beautiful in person than in her engagement photo. Her auburn bob had finger waves and framed her delicate cheekbones beautifully. Her eyes were a warm chestnut brown, the sort that inspired trust—a very handy trait for a con woman.

She was wearing a blindingly white monster of a dress. Ugh, was Marcus really going to let his bride wear something so unfashionable? Clara was pretty sure there was even a hoopskirt hiding under all that taffeta. Two women in suits cut like Marguerite’s, though theirs were respectively burgundy and dark brown, knelt on either side of Anastasia with pincushions in hand.

“Irene, could you raise the hem about half an inch on your side?” the woman in brown asked the other.

“Could I trouble one of you for a glass of water?” Anastasia asked in a French accent as light and feathery as the rest of her.

The woman in the brown suit rose and walked through the doorway past Clara. Clara glanced at her name tag as she walked by: Jacqueline. Lorraine showed up beside Clara a few moments after Jacqueline left, and peered through the doorway. “Now we’ve got her right where we want her. How do we get her alone, though?”

“Let me worry about that,” Clara replied. “How’d it go with the dragon lady?”

“She’s picking out dresses for me. By the way, if anyone asks, my last name is Rockefeller.”

Clara rolled her eyes—of course that was the name Lorraine had used. “You ready?” she asked.

Lorraine nodded. “Let’s get this lousy quiff.”

Clara and Lorraine walked through the doorway. “Excuse me, Irene?” Clara said. “A lady named Jacqueline said she needed you for something.”

Irene blinked a few times. “I’ll be right back, dear,” she said to Anastasia.

As soon as they were alone, Lorraine and Clara approached Anastasia. The platform made the girl even taller than Lorraine. Not ideal for intimidation purposes, but what could they do? They had to rile Anastasia up before either of the bridal shop employees came back, which could happen at any moment.

So Clara cut right to the chase. “We know who you are.”

“Yeah, cut the accent, Deirdre!” Lorraine chimed in.

In the split second before Marcus’s fiancée remembered she was supposed to be an innocent ingenue, her eyes hardened and her mouth leveled into a thin line. Anastasia might have looked like a porcelain doll, but there was clearly a layer of steel underneath the delicate surface. Then, like magic, the anger was gone. Anastasia looked from Lorraine to Clara in wide-eyed confusion without batting an eyelash. “I zink you must ’ave me meestaken for someone else. And you are not supposed to be ’ere.” She squinted at them as if she had forgotten her glasses and was trying to make out their facial features.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Lorraine poked a sharp finger into Anastasia’s chest. “If he knew the truth about you, Marcus would never look twice at you, much less marry you!”

Anastasia stepped off the platform to get away from Lorraine. She clasped the material of her long veil in her hands as if it would somehow defend her. “I don’t know ’oo you are, but if you do not get out of ’ere I will call ze police! Irene, Jacqueline!”

Clara swallowed hard. “Maybe we should all just—”

But then Lorraine lunged at Anastasia and pried the long veil from her hands, yanking it straight off her head. Several bobby pins clattered to the floor. “Not so cocky without your veil, are you, tramp?” Lorraine spat. “Clara, catch!”

Lorraine threw the veil at her. Clara caught it, bewildered. “Lorraine, what are you—”

“You geeve zat back right now!” Anastasia growled, and ran straight at Clara.

Clara took off, running around the room with Anastasia chasing her. She threw the veil back to Lorraine, laughing. This was definitely one way to intimidate a girl.

They tossed the veil back and forth a few more times, taunting Anastasia. The girl was enraged as she ran back and forth between them like an angry little poodle desperately seeking a favorite chew toy.

After a few minutes, Lorraine ran with the veil toward a door marked ONLY USE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, and Anastasia followed.

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