Page 16 of Dreaming of You

"Hey, thousands of women have walked down stairs in hoop skirts. It can be done," she said optimistically, as they headed out of the office. As she looked down the narrow, steep staircase, she had to admit she was a little intimidated. But she needed to give Jennifer some confidence. Once she saw that it could be done, she wouldn't be so worried. "Why don't you wait at the bottom, so you can see my dramatic descent?"

"All right." Jennifer jogged down the stairs and waited by the front door. "Go ahead."

She drew in a deep breath and took the first step. After a couple of stairs, she began to breathe more easily. "It's not that bad."

"You do look sort of majestic. But you only have the hoop skirt on—not the dress, which makes everything bigger."

"I still think we can make it work." She was almost at the bottom of the stairs when Barrett's door flew open. She took one look at his incredulous face and tumbled down the last three steps, landing in an undignified heap at his feet.

Jennifer gasped in horror. "Oh, my God, are you all right, Kate?"

She tried to get up, but her legs were tangled in the hoop, and she couldn't even see over it.

A man's hand came into view. She really didn't want to take it, but Jennifer seemed to be paralyzed.

She put her hand into Barrett's, allowing him to help her to her feet. As if his mocking face wasn't enough embarrassment, behind him stood a beautiful blonde, who was close to six feet tall, wearing a tight white dress, and an expression of pure distaste.

"Are you hurt?" Barrett asked.

"Only my pride," she muttered. "You startled me. I would have been fine, otherwise." She looked at Jennifer. "Really, I would have been fine."

"If you call this fine," Barrett put in, "then you might need to redefine that word. What are you wearing?"

"It's a hoop skirt. It goes under a bridal gown. I was showing Jennifer that she would be able to walk down the stairs while wearing it."

A smile spread across his face. "You really do go above and beyond, don't you?"

"Barrett, can we go?" the woman asked impatiently.

"One second," he said, his gaze narrowing as he saw her rubbing her fingers. "Did you hurt your hand?"

"It's fine," she said, even though she could feel pain shooting through her fingers.

He frowned. "You should see a doctor."

"I just need some ice. Please go on with your evening."

"Barrett," the blonde said again, tapping her foot with impatience.

"I'm coming." He glanced at her. "Maybe take that skirt off before you go back up the stairs." He moved toward the door with his date, then paused, looking at Jennifer. "If you don't want to walk down the stairs in that thing, don't do it. It's your wedding. Always remember that."

She didn't particularly care for Barrett giving her client wedding advice, but she didn't really disagree with him.

As the door closed behind Barrett and his date, she turned to Jennifer. "I'm sorry I messed that up. He surprised me."

"I can't do it, Kate. I can't wear it. Maybe I should just call off the wedding. I don't want to hurt my father, but I can't be my mom for him. I can't relive his wedding day."

"You have to talk to him, Jennifer."

"He'll hate me."

"No. He loves you. I like tradition, and I like that you want to honor your mom. It's very sweet. But this is your day. If you want me to speak to your dad, I will, but I think it would be better if it came from you."

Jennifer drew in a breath. "You're right. I'll do it tonight. I'll tell him how I feel." She paused. "And, if you don't mind, I'm going to tell him about how you fell down the stairs, just to make my point a little stronger."

"Happy to be the sacrificial lamb," she said dryly, as she got out of the skirt.

After Jennifer had gathered her things together and left, Kate took a longer look at her hand. Her two middle fingers were swollen, and her entire wrist was aching. She really hoped she hadn't broken something. She and Liz were supposed to spend the evening putting together sample favors to show Maggie and Jessica tomorrow. Hopefully, some ice would help.

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