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treadle machine in the window. She beckoned us inside and told us she was Romani. Her work was exquisite. She crafted one special dress each year, she told me, and was finishing off her last commission—the dress I was admiring. Dante, needless to say, wasn’t convinced. He wanted me to have something from a top fashion house, and he asked the old lady how she managed to survive on one commission a year. I shushed him. My mind was made up. “This is where I want my dress to be made,” I told him. And then the old lady looked straight at me and said, ‘Don’t I know you?’ I was thinking the same thing about her,” Rose explained. “‘We Romani move about,’ she told me…”
“And then?” Amber pressed when Rose fell silent, though she’d heard the story several times.
“I had to beg Dante to agree.”
“But the looks you exchanged sealed the deal?” Celina traded a knowing grin with Amber.
Rose kept her own counsel, but she smiled.
“Every stitch is sewn with love,” Amber remembered, quoting the old Romani woman.
And it was a fabulous dress. Formfitting in ivory silk satin, it had a slit up one side that would have been quite revealing had it not been for the floating silk chiffon panels that formed the skirt. Rose had complained to the old Romani that she would never have the grace to carry off such a dream of a dress, but far from being put off, the skilled seamstress had created a provocatively low neckline too, as well as a floating cape that fell from Rose’s shoulders and formed a train some six yards in length. “Imagine that flying behind you when the Romani chieftain lifts you onto his horse and gallops away with you,” the old woman had said, her eyes shining with passion as she spoke.
“Did I mention my husband was Romani?” Rose had asked with surprise.
“You didn’t have to. He has the Sight,” the old elderly Romani insisted. “I feel it.”
A quiver ran through Rose now as she remembered their conversation. She would never ignore her instincts again, she vowed silently as she traced the tiny diamante symbols the old lady had sewn with love. “Romani symbols,” the old lady had said. “Fitting symbols for a Romani queen.” Rose smiled as she remembered how proudly the elderly woman had spoken of her heritage. “The tiny diamante wheels symbolize the wheel of life turning ceaselessly for all,” she had explained, “while the gold sun warms you, and the pearl love knots keep your love forever strong.”
“Thank you both,” Rose murmured, reaching for her bridesmaids’ hands and squeezing tight. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and you’re right, the dress is beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Dante!” Rose whirled around. “You’re not supposed to see me on the day of our wedding!”
“I’m not supposed to kiss you either, but I don’t obey the rules,” he reminded her. “I make them.”
Rose’s bridesmaids scattered as Dante dragged her close. He could break any rule he liked, as far as she was concerned. Even in a formal dark wedding suit, with a crisp white shirt pointing up his incredible tan, he was every inch the Romani chieftain.
“You are so bad,” she whispered as the girls softly closed the door behind them. “You’ve frightened my bridesmaids away.”
“I hardly think they’d want to stay and watch us kissing.”
“Kissing?”
“You sound disappointed.” Dante smiled. “What’s your rush? We have all the time in the world. Don’t they say that delay is the friend of pleasure?”
“You do,” Rose agreed wryly.
“Forever,” Dante growled as he drew her into his arms.
“Even longer than that,” Rose whispered.
