Page 50 of Winter With You

He was right. Why was he right? Gabriella looked at her reflection in the mirror behind the curtain where she had changed and admired her silhouette from all angles. The dress didn’t make her look short, it made her look put together, professional, calm. She frowned at her image. How could a dress make someone look calm?

‘Is everything OK? You’ve not said anything for a bit.’

‘It’s OK.’ She smoothed the fabric over her stomach, relished the texture. It was definitely more than OK.

‘Good. Just checking you hadn’t passed out from hating it too much. So, can you show me?’

She whipped back the curtain and strode out into the central space, but, very quickly, the height of the patent heels made her and her confidence wobble. Luca was quick to reach out and, on instinct, so did she. Before she could quip out a comment loaded with bravado, his hand was holding her hand tight and whatever emotion she had felt before and tried to dispel was being recharged. She attempted to rebalance, both her feet and whatever this other nonsense was. She let go of his hand.

‘We can change the shoes,’ Luca offered, taking a step back. ‘If they’re too high. I have another pair that⁠—’

‘I can walk in?’ Gabriella offered with a laugh.

‘I was briefed that it was minimal walking for this particular event,’ he answered.

‘Really? You get that kind of detail?’

He nodded. ‘It’s important. It changes how I style.’

‘If I was running?’

‘Definitely not those shoes.’ He smiled. ‘So, tell me how you feel in the dress?’

‘Why don’t you tell me how you think I look.’ Why had she said that? She hurried to say something else. ‘As a professional.’

‘How you look as a professional?’

She could feel her cheeks reddening. Why were her cheeks reddening? Composure. Focus. What backstory would she make up about him if she was looking at him from her apartment block? Luca. Mid-twenties? Cover model or maybe a competitive swimmer with those broad shoulders and hair that would look particularly good wet…

‘Ah, you mean my professional opinion,’ he said.

She nodded, grateful for his interjection.

‘In my professional opinion,’ he began. ‘You don’t need to try on the other outfits. And we don’t need a belt or anything else except… maybe a bracelet.’

And that’s when she regained her sense. She touched her wrist on instinct. ‘No bracelet.’

‘I just think it will draw the eye down and if you do that, photographers are subliminally encouraged to take full-length shots rather than headshots. Good for column inches. Yes, they could crop but, like at Zeeta Friedmann, the majority chose not to so⁠—’

‘I said no.’

She had barked it out. Harsh and louder than she had meant. Emotionally. And her fingers were still on her wrist.

‘OK,’ Luca said. ‘But I think we need something.’

‘I said no bracelet. Which bit of that didn’t you understand?’ Now she was shaking on the shoes again, balance under attack, but internally more than externally.

‘Is everything OK in here?’

Gabriella turned at the closeness of Sybille’s voice. She was in the room and so was Phoebe and Mr Darcy. Gabriella smiled, turning on her persona. ‘Yes, everything’s fine.’

‘Oh, Gabriella, you look beautiful!’ Phoebe exclaimed excitedly.

She whisked the skirt out like she might be about to perform a paso doble. ‘You like it?’ She did a spin, only just managing the full rotation on the shoes. Mr Darcy barked.

‘I do like it,’ Phoebe said, nodding.

‘Might I make a small suggestion?’ Sybille asked, moving towards Gabriella.