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Her pulse raced at the opportunity he was offering while her mind was busy negotiating the difficulties that still stood in the way of accepting the job. ‘Thank you. You pay me a huge compliment by even offering me this commission. However, as much as I am tempted, I do have other responsibilities and other clients I must consider before I can accept.’
He pushed himself from the chair and loomed over her. ‘But you have just shown your latest collection. That is completed. You will design this dress.’
She felt her eyes widen, taken aback as much at his physical presence before her as his bold statement. Until now he’d given the impression he specifically wanted her to design the wedding gown. Could it be that other designers had already turned down the commission? Maybe desperation was forcing his hand and he’d run out of options.
Besides, as tempted as she was to take on any wedding-gown design project, she would be mad to promise something she could not deliver. Especially just because it was demanded of her. ‘I’m still not a free agent. I do have my own line now, it’s true, but I still work within the House of Bacelli.’
‘I have already spoken with Gianfranco Bacelli. He will release you.’
‘I see.’ But she didn’t see. She bit down on her lip as she considered his revelation. This was no ordinary commission, not if it had already been squared away with the ageing designer who headed the Bacelli house. Whoever this Khaled was, he was a man of influence. And he obviously expected her to fall in with his plans.
He took a step closer. ‘You will be compensated well.’
She stood up, forcing her five-feet-eight frame taller, wanting to show him she would not be the pushover he expected, though she still conceded a good six inches to his height. ‘Be that as it may, you have left things very late. As you are no doubt aware, I work to the highest possible standards and that means it may simply not be feasible to do the dress justice in the time available.’
‘Name your price, then.’
She drew back, offended by the implication. ‘Signor Khaled, you misunderstand me. I wasn’t angling at securing a higher price for my services, merely pointing out that the time is very short even to complete the design to the satisfaction of the bride, let alone to construct the dress.’
He waved away her umbrage with a flick of his wrist, almost as if he was bored. ‘This dress will be your design. You are the designer.’
‘But surely the bride will want to have her say? Perhaps she’d like to come in, we can talk about it together, get some ideas down on paper?’
‘No!’ He glowered down at her. ‘That will not be possible.’ He turned and strode to the window. ‘She knows your designs. She would have no one else design her wedding dress. You will design it yourself.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid that makes the job almost impossible, then. At a minimum I need to know the bride’s tastes and preferences. I need to know what colours best suit her and what styles complement her figure.’
‘You cannot meet her. At least—not yet.’
‘But why? What bride doesn’t want to be involved in organising her own gown?’
His dark eyes narrowed. ‘She is…indisposed. The wedding will be challenge enough for her. She doesn’t need the additional stress beforehand.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Sapphy’s mind whirled with the possibilities. What could be the problem? Unless she was ill, too ill to handle her own wedding plans. That might also explain the rush…
Her heart filled with compassion. It all fitted. His bride was ill, perhaps seriously, and they wanted to marry while they still could. No wonder he was so desperate to retain her services. No wonder he seemed so angry with her.
‘I can tell you all you need to know,’ he said. ‘I can answer all your questions. So, will you design the gown?’
She swallowed, trying to ease the sudden constriction in her throat. If she was right about the circumstances of this marriage, there was no way she couldn’t help. There was no way she could let a bride in such circumstances down. But likewise she wanted more than anything for the bride to be delighted with her dress and, without the usual input, how could she be sure she could pull it off?
‘This is a heavy responsibility. I would need to be sure the bride will be satisfied with the gown. I would hate for her to be disappointed in any way.’
‘I guarantee, she will love it.’ He suddenly pivoted to face her, as if something had occurred to him. ‘All she asks…’
Sapphy’s ears pricked up, eager for anything that would give her some indication of the bride’s preferences. ‘Yes?’
He smiled, his teeth white against his tanned skin and his eyes shining in the glow from the downlights. ‘All she asks is that you imagine that this is your wedding, that you imagine you are the bride and that this is the gown of your dreams. Only then will she be happy.’
Her eyelids fell sh
ut, long and purposefully, as the tingles she’d thought long gone resumed their samba along her spine. A client was paying her the ultimate compliment, letting her decide everything about the dress’s style, fabric and design. It was an unbelievable opportunity to showcase her talent. Yet something still didn’t feel right.
And part of it was in imagining this was her wedding and the resultant picture that flashed through her mind’s eye. She was walking down the carpeted aisle towards the man waiting for her. But something was wrong. The man was wrong.
It wasn’t Paolo waiting for her.
It was Signor Khaled.
