for the honeymoon?”
“Are you marrying Ross for his money?”
“When’s the baby due?”
“How’d you snag the city’s hottest bachelor?”
“You still haven’t found a dress?”
“Ugh, no comment. No comment,” I tell the vultures. To the stone-faced bridal assistant, I wave a hand, hurrying him. “Come on before they eat you alive.” He tosses a withering look over his shoulder like there might actually be zombie monsters coming after him but that he’d gladly take them on.
Putting the phone back to my ear, I say, “Mom, you there? This is crazy. I’ve worked with clients who have paparazzi following them everywhere, but it’s never been me. How do celebrities do this? I just want to be left alone.”
“Oh, hush!” Mom crows, giggling. “Just sit back and take it all in. Use it to your advantage.”
That might be wise advice if I had any idea how to do that. As it is, I just feel like the increased visibility is going to come back and bite me in the ass because there’s no way we can pull off a fake wedding with their constant scrutiny and sneaking around.
“I’ll try, Mom. I need to go, though. I’ve got dress trying-on to do.”
We hang up and I turn to the bridal assistant who’s been waiting patiently.
He sticks out his hand. “Weston Worthington, Ms. Russo. Considering our timeline, are you ready to get to it?” I like him instantly, all business and professional, not a word said or a care given about the circus outside my office.
“Yes, that’d be perfect.”
“If you’re comfortable, perhaps you can change into your foundational garments and let me evaluate your shape. I find that to be most efficient so that we can focus on gowns that will flatter you personally.”
I know an order when I hear one, so I turn to head back into my office, which we’ve been using as a makeshift dressing room. “Certainly. If you wouldn’t mind, could you close the curtains? They’re one-way visibility, but I don’t want to risk anyone getting a shot of me in my underwear.”
I swear I see Weston’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. See? Obviously, not a princess, and barely fit for polite company with this sassy mouth.
I strip and wiggle into the bodysuit I’ve been using as my mainstay for the wedding gowns. It’s nothing crazy like the Spanx that almost killed me under my red gala dress. This set is more smoothing than compression, so it’s comfortable and all one piece, which makes it easy.
I open the door slowly, making sure the front room is fluorescent-lit only before coming out in what equates to a flesh-toned colored swimsuit. Archie’s droll voice greets me. “That one. You should absolutely wear that and nothing else.” He points my way, making a spinning motion, which I answer with a middle finger.
I know he’s exhausted with doing all the dress shopping and wedding stuff on top of our full schedule of actual work. He’s been a saint, doing so much at Mrs. Montgomery’s while we both keep all the juggling balls in the air. I did at least get Ross’s couch ordered yesterday, making the most of our ‘lazy’ Sunday by working diligently on my laptop all afternoon.
Abi interjects, apparently having arrived with Archie while I was changing. “Okay, let’s get to work. Snap, snap, people.”
She’s in boss mode, which makes me worry she’s got too much on her plate with all she’s doing to help with the wedding, but then she smiles at me and I can see the joy she’s taking in planning this. I know she loves working with flowers, but I think she really loves weddings.
Weston walks a full circle around me, then holds my arms out wide in a T-shape and eyes my chest, waist, and hips critically. He doesn’t seem deterred by my rather curvy figure but rather seems to be visually measuring me. I’d bet he’d be able to get with a quarter-inch if he guessed my measurements.
“Okay, let’s begin,” he says, letting my arms go and turning to his rack of bagged garments. Like a magician, he opens one and pulls out a white fluff of fabric. “This one will highlight your small waist and give adequate support for your breasts. The bottom is a full ballgown silhouette, perfect for the grandeur of the church.”
It looks like a stunningly bedazzled cupcake, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything.
Weston helps me into the gown, and I turn, facing the large mirror leaning against