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The reason I immediately know I’m in the right place is because along every wall are rolls and rolls of fabric. It seems very disorganised but I bet the creator of the beautiful dresses on mannequins in the centre of the room knows exactly what she’s doing.
“COMING!” Comes a yell from the doorway, draped in purple beads, behind a small, rectangular shaped wooden desk. “Ouch.” The lady stumbles on something I think because she begins cursing under her breath after knocking a few things over.
When she finally comes into view, she is not what I expected. Though after walking into this store, I’m not entirely sure what I expected. What I didn’t expect was a petite, stunningly pretty young woman with light blue hair. It’s almost grey but not quite. Her fringe is a perfect block against her forehead. It really suits her.
I see a white peace sign tattoo on the side of her neck. White. I didn’t know they could tattoo in white. It looks amazing.
She pops a pink bubble from between her thick, dark brown lipstick painted lips. “I’m Adriana, the owner of this lovely little crap hole. And you are?”
“Oh, I’m umm…” I look at her outfit. Her top is a white lace crop top over a bralette. Her dark jeans are slashed all the way down to her ankles. White converse with sparkly silver gems on the toes cover tiny feet. “I’m…”
“You got a problem with how I look?” Her hands go to her hips and she chews the bubblegum angrily before popping it again.
“No, God no,” I raise my hands, my eyes wide. “I love it. I wish I had the guts and style to dress so… wicked?”
She grins, seeming appeased, and holds out her hand which also has a tattoo, this one a black lace design, going from her wrist to her middle finger.
“I can stylishly flip people off,” she giggles, noticing me staring. “Okay, I’m done being the walking object. How can I help you…?”
“Gwen,” I respond when she waits for me to tell her my name. I release her hand and pull out my phone. “I want a wedding dress made like this.”
She snatches the phone from my hand and places glasses over her eyes. They were hanging on a chain around her neck but I didn’t notice them as I was too busy checking out how perky her breasts are in that tiny bralette. I think I might fancy this woman a little. “This is gorgeous, but it’s not my design.”
“I know.”
“Which means I can’t make it, but I can take inspiration from it and design you my own.”
My lips part. “Really? What if I don’t like it?”
“Oh you will love it. I’ve yet to disappoint,” she grins, still chewing away. “You want this colour too?”
“Yes! I absolutely love that colour.”
“It needs more sparkles to make it pop.”
“Sure,” I agree for the sake of agreeing. “How much do you think it’ll be?”
“I’ll have to measure out the materials and whatnot before I can give you a definite price. It won’t be cheap, but it’ll be cheaper than what you’ve been quoted for that dress. I only charge for time and materials.”
That’s what I figured. “Okay. Do you have a portfolio or something I can flip through?”
“Yep.” She finally gives me my phone back and I follow her to her desk. She hands me a black folder. “I’m the best. People don’t know it yet, but it’s true.” As I flick through the images, I completely believe her. “You really made all of these?”
“I did. And they’re all cheaper and better quality that anything similar instore.”
“You’re so talented.”
“Thank you.” She pops her gum again and cocks her head at me. “I take a fifty quid deposit just so I know you’re serious and if you don’t like the dress I sell it on and try again, but trust me… you will love the dress.”
Can I really put my faith in somebody for something this huge? “I’m in. Could you possibly make a few matching ties too?”
“Whatever you need, you email it to me,” she hands me a business card, “and I’ll add it to your bill.”
“This is great!” I beam, stuffing my phone back into my pocket. “Shall I email you the image too?”
“Nah, it’s cool. I got it up here.” She taps a finger to her temple, flashing me the Deathly Hallows symbol tattooed on the side.
“Thank you.”
“No problem, sweets. Now let’s get your details then.” She opens up her diary on the desk. It’s a large leather journal with cotton paper. “When do you need it for?”
“Not until July, but…”
“Good, that’ll give me enough time. You need to lose weight and get fit, I bet?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Stop eating bread, hype up the protein and you’ll be golden.” She tweaks the hoop piercing in her nostril and then flexes her impressive, defined biceps. “I know what I’m talking about.”
