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‘Brooke! Darling!’ said Nicholas, as he threw open the door and air–kissed her. He was tall and thin, with a shaved head, goatee beard, and a big smile.
‘Nicholas, this is my friend Matt.’
The two men shook hands, then Nicholas took Brooke’s arm and led her into a corner.
‘Tell me he’s going to be at the wedding,’ he whispered, fanning his face with the back of his hand.
‘He’s going to be at the wedding,’ she smiled.
‘Tell me he’s gay,’ he grinned mischievously.
‘Sadly, he’s not,’ said Brooke. ‘Sorry honey.’
Nicholas threw his hands in the air. ‘Huh!’ he said in mock disgust. ‘And here I was thinking you’d brought me a wedding present.’ He glanced over at Matt, then back at Brooke. ‘Or is he your own little gift to yourself?’
She slapped him gently on the arm. ‘No, Nicholas. No,’ she said, but the designer did not look convinced. Nicholas had only graduated from the Parsons Fashion School three years ago. He’d gone directly to work for YSL in Paris, subsequently starting his own label just over a year ago with a loan from his parents. His label was still little more than a cottage industry – when Brooke had first met him, he’d confided in her that he knew the best way to get his designs noticed was sending them to the most beautiful, high–profile girls in the city, but he did not have the money to send $25,000 gowns out to socialites on the off chance. He’d chosen Brooke carefully and he had confessed to ‘weeping buckets’ when she had made her appointment to see him.
‘Come here,’ said Nicholas, waving Matt over to a table at the far end of the studio. ‘I have champagne, I have chocolate, I have strawberries.’
Nicholas shook his finger at Brooke. ‘No chocolates for you, sugar plum.’
He then went across to a garment rail and unzipped a dress bag. He pulled out a biscuit–coloured gown that fluttered through the air like a butterfly. Brooke clapped her hands together in glee.
‘Oh Nicholas!’ she exclaimed.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said Nicholas, beaming.
‘Like it? I love it,’ she gasped, fingering the gossamer–light material.
‘Shame it’s just for the rehearsal dinner,’ said Matt, taking a drink of champagne from a mini–bottle.
Both Brooke and Nicholas scowled at him, making him snort his drink down his nose.
‘Speaking of which, I have something for you,’ added Nicholas, looking a little embarrassed. She followed him into a white dressing room where he pulled back a curtain. ‘Just in case,’ he whispered.
Brooke gasped. It was a beautiful ivory sheath of satin, a wonderful dress she just knew she’d look amazing in.
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Now, I know you have another dress, a much grander one than this. But I thought if you wanted to change into something a little simpler for the party?’
‘Oh Nicholas, it’s amazing.’
Nicholas smirked. ‘So I take it you want to try it?’
Brooke nodded, then looked back at Matt.
‘Hey, don’t worry about me,’ he said, pouring another glass of champagne, ‘I’ll be fine out here.’
Excited as a little girl, Brooke quickly slipped into the dress. Nicholas helped her onto a little footstool to elevate her off the ground and he darted around her, making fine adjustments with pins. Looking into the long gilt mirror in front of her, she scooped her hair up to show her long neck. She almost felt like crying. Brooke had never been the sort of girl to believe it when people told her she was beautiful, but the poised, sophisticated woman staring back at her from the mirror was as stunning as she had ever dared hope to be. The A–line skirt was grand yet modern, the neckline low and scooped, while the fitted bodice emphasized her long torso. It dipped down just past her shoulder blades at the back, enough to be proper but low enough for a suggestion of sensuality and daring. Not only did it look good, it felt good too. The ivory satin–faced organza felt light and luxurious on her skin, both fragile and strong, like a secret armour. As Matt walked to the entrance of the dressing room, Nicholas retreated. She felt a vague sense of disloyalty that Matt was seeing his dress before David, but reminded herself that this wasn’t actually her wedding dress, so it didn’t really count. Still, she held her breath as she awaited his response.
‘Very nice,’ he nodded. ‘I thought you hated it.’
She held her skirt out, feeling a pang of disappointment at his polite reaction. Her heart started beating faster with the realization that she wanted him to think she looked beautiful. Stop it, she told herself. Stop it. Doesn’t every woman just want a compliment from an attractive man? ‘It’s the other dress I have a problem with,’ she said quickly, stepping down from the stool. ‘The Disney Princess dress. But this one just feels right. Shame I can’t get married in it.’
‘What do you mean?’
She saw his confused expression and waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t ask, family politics. Now if you’d just care to step out again … ?’
When Brooke had changed back into her own clothes, she thanked Nicholas and led Matt back out onto the street. They slowly walked back towards the Brooklyn Bridge, along a tree–fringed promenade, staring out at the glistening oily–black waters of the East River, not speaking. It was unusually quiet, no joggers or stumbling drunks, the bitter cold keeping people indoors or in bars and restaurants enjoying Christmas parties.
