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But her father’s victory that day meant the woman about to be her mother-in-law had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest, which was funny since it was clear the hatred directed towards Ivy would never rest. Ivy groaned internally at her own terrible pun, ever-rest never-rest.
It was no secret Mrs Taylor had been against their engagement, but as the biggest wedding of the year she, of course, wanted to be involved. She had an image to maintain, after all.
When she’d announced she was helping with the planning, Ivy had been hopeful it was finally time to bury the hatchet. That Mrs Taylor was finally ready to accept her, or at least tolerate her for the sake of her son and them being a family.
How wrong she’d been.
Ivy had done her best to accommodate the woman. But the truth was, everything had already been arranged and organised before she stampeded in.
Or it had been.
But now the small wedding she had wanted had been thrown aside and steamrolled into a grand event, twisted so far from what she’d wanted it didn’t even resemble her plans anymore.
Becca cleared her throat, bringing Ivy back to the present, reminding her she had yet to step out of the elevator. She dropped her gaze as she stepped into the large mirrored room, setting her sights on the plush burgundy carpet.
You’d think such a dark carpet would close the room in, yet it made it look regal. The walls, not adored with mirrors, were black and cream, containing beautifully framed pictures from the most prominent fashion shows she’d attended.
Her gaze lifted to the picture beside the elevator door. A handsome man, black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. He was captured, strutting his stuff down the catwalk, wearing one of Becca’s designs, a cross between a Victorian gentleman’s suit and steampunk. There was no question Jake looked stunning. Although it was not the career he’d come here to chase. Funny how a flat tire could change everything… or a trip to the Bahamas.
Ivy shuddered, pushing down the last thought. “No Jay?” she asked, using the abbreviated name Becca had given him. She swore it was to keep JJ on his toes when the group hung out.
“You know, I didn’t think you’d want some guy eye-fucking you while you stood in this.” Becca pulled a beautiful set of lace underwear from one of the hidden wardrobes. Despite what Becca said, they both knew Jake only had eyes for one woman, and it didn’t matter what anyone else was wearing… or not wearing.
Ivy glanced away, cheeks burning all the same. This room was truly amazing. Behind each mirror was hidden storage, where Becca kept the clothes pending fittings. She prepared all her models here. The only thing in the room visible was a small table with chairs, and a box—which probably had some posh, ostentatious name—for the model to step on. “Drink your coffee and eat first. No way in hell I’m letting you spill down these beauties.” The white lace shimmered pale blue beneath the lightning. It had the same warm tones as the natural lighting downstairs, but up here, the LED panels had shifted from decorative to simple and stylish, ensuring focus remained on what was important, the customer.
“So Jay?” Ivy prompted, taking a seat at the table, awkwardly trying to keep her gaze anywhere but on the mirrors. This much her, these many reflections from every angle, was too much.
“He’s doing a shoot for the winter catalogue.”
“Shouldn’t you be there?” Ivy knew Becca liked to handle certain things personally. While this store was her dream, what she didn’t brag about was her offices.
Becca had made it. Big time. But fashion had always been about chasing a dream for her, not the fame. She’d got her own label and line of clothing, but she’d also created a second line and started an apprentice program for promising young designers, turning part of her business into a school where they could create their own lines and brand. For her, fashion had never been about the bottom line. It had been about creating art and realising dreams.
Over the drinks and pastry, Ivy got to hear all the news about how well her label was doing. In fact, Becca had left the running of the company in someone else’s hands, giving her time to design her clothes without getting bogged down with administration. It was clear to anyone, Becca was happiest in front of a sketchpad, or piecing together designs.
After using the bathroom and washing up, Ivy was starting to feel nervous, something not helped by Becca’s command for her to strip. She slipped into the oh-so-soft lace underwear, praying that her body wouldn’t take this moment to gift her with her period. She wouldn’t put it past it, she’d been irregular since everything with Perry, and the hormone IUD had made them few and far between, but she could just imagine these beautiful, what must be ivory, garments, evading destruction by coffee only to be destroyed by her own body.
“Don’t look so terrified. You look amazing.” Becca held her eyes as she asserted this fact. She’d been a little less abrasive around Ivy, but that’s probably what happened when you’d seen the aftermath of your best friend’s rape and torture. Or maybe it was the scars, the silver stripes that marred her once-perfect flesh. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted a fall wedding. It would be cool. No one would think twice about a garment that covered everything. “Wait until you see this.” Becca’s excitement banished the apprehension easily, her friend’s eyes shining with joy as she opened the mirror to their right, pulling out a dress bag. “Close your eyes.” Ivy raised her eyebrows sceptically. “Seriously, Vee, don’t make me call Tails and get hold of some of that kinky shit you’re into.” Ivy’s face flamed with blush. “Now that’s the right complexion for a bride. Now shut them.”
Ivy did as instructed. She heard Becca moving around the room, the rustle of fabric, and other noises she couldn’t place, before something wrapped around her torso. Then Becca’s hands were in hers. “Big step up onto the platform.” Huh, Becca called it a platform, not some arty name.
Ivy complied, somehow with grace, and waited as more fabric rustled. She took a sharp breath as the bodice grew tight, constricting her breathing ever so slightly. Then there was silence. The kind of silence that made her eyelids twitch with the need to open. “Okay.” Becca’s voice was a whisper.
Ivy opened her eyes. For one long moment she forgot how to breathe. Her sight failed, blurring the image of the woman in the mirror. The stranger that was her.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Becca stepped in, fussing around the podium, making the tiered pleats fall beautifully, inside each crisp, perfect pleat, black and burgundy lacy detail peeped through the ivory dress. The same pattern as the sequin and bead trim that edged the top of the corset to follow the line of her cleavage. The same design followed beneath, adding extra emphasis to her breasts. The corset hugged her figure beautifully, the bodice tracing her curves before fanning out into the perfect A-line. Best of all, the corset wasn’t tight. Becca knew of Ivy’s habit of tightening things against her when she was nervous or stressed out. A corset had been an amazing idea to provide the comforting pressure she sought.
Those damn pins were in her teeth again, as Becca made some minor alterations, swooping around her with practised ease until she’d pinned everything in need of adjusting.
“Picture.” Ivy managed to force the word through her swollen throat. She could scarcely believe the woman reflected in the mirror, was her. She looked so different, so beautiful. Her chest tightened with the burning in her eyes.
She had expected to look passable, but this, this was every woman’s dream. She felt radiant and beautiful.
Becca laughed, snapping a few photographs. “Now don’t you go showing Tails. I didn’t do all this work just for it to wind up in the trash.”
“You wouldn’t!” Ivy’s eyes grew wide, knowing damn well her friend definitely would.
“He can’t see it before the wedding. Oh, and I’m still working on something.” If she’d dared to move, without images of tripping and tearing this work of art, Ivy would have hugged her. This dress was everything and more. It was perfection and beauty. “Hey! No! Don’t you be getting your salty tears on that.” Becca shoved a tissue in her face, grinning, her eyes sparking with joy. “Vee, you’re a goddess. You look stunning.”
