small, low stool in a thin white Grecian gown that wouldn’t zip closed, her image caught reflected in the numerous mirrors. And no one said anything.
Not Lady Andrea who sat in the corner with her notebook. Or Camille and Teresa who stood against the far wall. Or Celine, who hovered behind Anton Pierre, the designer from Paris who’d just flown in that morning hand carrying the two commissioned gowns—the ball gown for tonight’s gala and the wedding dress for Saturday’s ceremony.
No one spoke because what could anyone say?
The thin, slim chiffon gown should have cascaded effortlessly in an elegant column of white. Instead the fabric rode up in Hannah’s armpits and the back wouldn’t zip. Turning her head, Hannah could see her thin bra strap across her back and even that looked tight.
“Suck in your stomach,” Anton Pierre said, tugging hard on the zipper of the gown, lips pursed, expression critical.
“I am,” Hannah answered, wincing a little as the zipper pinched her back, catching at her skin.
“More,” he insisted.
She yelped as he zipped another bit of skin. “Ouch, stop! Stop. That hurts.”
Anton threw his hands up in displeasure. “If this gown is too tight, your wedding gown isn’t going to fit, either. Your breasts and hips are huge, Your Highness. What have you been eating?”
“Not a lot,” Hannah answered, knowing she’d actually lost weight in the past week, at least five pounds.
“Nonsense. I think you’re bingeing on butter and bon bons, Your Highness. I’ve dressed you for years and you’ve always asked me to tell you the truth. So I’m telling you the truth. You’re fat. You have chub.” He grabbed an inch on her back near her bra strap and pinched. “This is bad. You must lose ten pounds quickly—immediately—or you won’t be wearing my wedding gown. It’s made for a princess, not a midfielder.”
“Get out!” Zale’s voice thundered through the dressing room, rattling a mirror on one wall. He looked huge and violently angry as he gestured toward the door. “Get out, Pierre, before I personally throw you out.”
Then he turned on Lady Andrea. “How dare you allow a designer to speak to Her Highness that way? Where is your loyalty? Where is your allegiance? Perhaps you need to pack up your things, too, and join Monsieur Pierre on his plane home.”
Lady Andrea covered her mouth, holding back a sob. “Your Majesty, forgive me. I was just about to intervene—”
“When?” He interrupted. “I stood outside the door listening.
I heard it all. When were you going to intervene? How far did you intend to let it go?”
Lady Andrea shook her head and wiped away tears that were falling fast and furious.
“That’s all the answer I need,” Zale retorted. “Pack your things.”
He turned to Celine, Camille and Teresa next. “And you three? What is your excuse? Why did none of you protect Her Highness?”
Celine’s eyes were huge in her face. “I should have, Your Majesty. I wanted to. But I was scared.” “Why?”
Celine glanced at Hannah and then back to Zale. “I didn’t think it was my place because Monsieur Pierre is so famous and Princess Emmeline’s favorite designer …” Her voice drifted off and she pressed her hands together. “Should I pack my things, too?”
Zale looked at Hannah who still stood on the stool with the gaping chiffon gown clutched to her chest. His jaw jutted, eyes blazed and for a moment he just looked at her, expression impossible to read, then turned back to Celine. “I will let Her Highness make that decision. But I want all of you to leave us now. I’d like to speak to Princess Emmeline alone.”
The staff escaped from the dressing room and closed the outer door to the suite.
Zale crossed to the stool where Hannah was standing. “Give me your hand.”
She did and he helped her step off the stool and onto the ground.
“Turn around,” he instructed.
She did and he drew the zipper down so she could step from the dress.
“How could you let him speak to you that way?” He gritted, his features hard, his expression savage. “I’m supposed to be thin,” she whispered.
“Utter nonsense. You are perfect. I wouldn’t change one thing about you.”
Her eyes burned and she blinked. “Yes, but fashion designers prefer very slim models. Clothes look better that way.”
“I couldn’t care less about clothes. I care about you.”
Her heart staggered a bit inside her chest. “You do?”
“Can’t you tell? I haven’t kept my hands off you since you arrived.”
“I figured you had a healthy sex drive.” “I