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V-shaped lines formed between Tula’s sculpted brows. “What do you mean your assistant is handling it?”
Clara’s body tensed. She met Tula’s narrowed gaze. The woman was not going to intimidate her. After all, Clara wasn’t the first wedding planner to involve her assistant in wedding plans. Just as Tula wasn’t the first bride to panic over matters that were well in hand.
Clara sat up straighter. “With all of my attention on the details for your big day, my assistant is more than capable of setting up the bachelor party—”
“Is this wedding too much for you to handle?” Tula arched a brow as she stared at her. “Maybe you’re too inexperienced—”
“I’m on top of everything—”
“Except the bachelor party.” Tula glanced in the mirror at the latest wedding dress. It was her tenth dress that morning. The knee-length creation had a demure white polka dot overlay with a sweetheart neckline. She turned back to Clara. “You know how important this wedding is to me. Nothing can go wrong.”
“And it won’t.”
“Good. I knew you’d understand that it’s best you personally oversee everything.”
Wait. She hadn’t said that. Her lips parted to set Tula straight, but the young woman was smiling at her image in the full-length mirror as Liza showed her how they could add a purple petticoat. And if they were to raise the hemline a couple of inches, the petticoat could peek out. Or they could gather the skirt a little on the side to show off the purple organza with satin trim. The high-waisted dress wasn’t frilly or traditional, but it was beautiful and fit Tula’s personality.
As for personally planning the bachelor party, that definitely wouldn’t work. Clara inwardly groaned. Aside from dealing with Andrew, the truth was she’d never planned one before. She’d always been involved in the bride’s activities, not so much the groom’s. She knew this would be a good experience, but it was such terrible timing, in more ways than one.
Not about to fret over the inevitable, Clara turned her attention back to the hunt for the perfect wedding dress. She couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. She had to know if they could mark finding a dress off her list. “What do you think?”
Tula turned this way and that way in front of the mirror. “Did you say this dress was handmade?”
Clara nodded. “I had it overnighted from a designer in Europe.”
Tula glanced at Liza. “And you’re sure we can put touches on it to make it a truly one-of-a-kind creation? After all, my wedding dress can’t be the same as anyone else’s. It has to be unique. Like me.”
Liza assured her that she would do her best to make it an original. After they went back and forth over which changes to make, Tula turned to Clara. “What do you think?”
Really? Tula wanted her opinion? The actress usually had a mind of her own, but the fact she valued Clara’s opinion meant a lot. “I think the dress suits you.” And then a thought struck Clara, dampening her enthusiasm. She hesitated to mention it, but better now than later. “Is it traditional enough?”
Tula glanced back in the mirror. “Let’s face it, no matter how much Hugh wants me to be the traditional bride, I’m not one. I think this is a good compromise. Isn’t that the key to a good marriage?”
Clara nodded as her thoughts spiraled back to her engagement to Andrew. After they’d graduated—her from college, him from grad school—who’d have thought their careers would lead them to different cities? Still, looking through rose-colored glasses she’d figured that New York City wasn’t so far from DC—just a train ride away. And in the beginning, neither of them imagined the separation would last for so long.
She’d done everything she could to be the kind of woman he would want to marry—except giving up her career. She’d cut her long hair into a smart, trendy fashion. She’d switched her wardrobe from fun, flirty fashions to blues, blacks, and grays. She’d gladly worn sensible fashions more fitting an executive’s wife. Or at least Andrew’s vision of a quiet, supportive spouse. And where had it gotten her?
Maybe if she’d been more like herself, she’d have spoken up sooner, and they could have found a compromise between what he’d wanted for the future and her own needs. Instead, she’d ignored it all, hoping it would somehow work out on its own. Oh, how much she’d learned since then. But it was too little, too late.
“Do you have them?”
Tula’s voice drew Clara’s thoughts back to the present. She glanced at Tula’s expectant face, but she had no clue what had been said. “Um, sorry. What did you say?”
“I wanted to know if you brought the shoes with you.”
Clara gestured to the shoe boxes lined up along the wall, holding the shoes for Tula to try on. All three of them painstakingly went through the two dozen plus pairs of shoes, but none of them would do. They were either too flashy or too dowdy. None were just right.
Clara glanced around the room, hoping for some sort of inspiration. After all, the bride couldn’t walk down the aisle in bare feet. And then her gaze landed on Tula’s canvas shoes. Could it really be that simple?
She was hesitant to mention it to Tula. After all, she was a high-profile figure. Her wedding pictures would be sold to the highest-paying publication in the world. Everything had to be just right.
“You’ve thought of something. I can see it on your face.” Excitement laced Tula’s words. “What is it?”
“Um, nothing.” Clara realized her idea was born of desperation. It just wasn’t a viable solution.
“Oh, it’s something. Tell me.”
Clara waved her off. “You’ll think it’s silly.”
