Page 131 of Love is a Game

“No way—” Pen shakes her head. “She really put him through his paces.”

I tilt my head, add a questioning look, waiting for the significance of her words to sink in. Because putting a guy through his paces? Fuck me, Elizabeth Bennett’s got nothing on Penelope Miller.

It finally lands, followed by something I haven’t seen in a long time.

Wait. No. That can’t be…

“Did you—did you just blush, Penelope?”

“What? Of course not!” She fluffs her hair and schools her face into something stern. “It’s just…Well, I guess, designing Mia’s wedding dress has made me have to—you know—tap into something. To feel a bit…”

“Romantic?” I supply.

She folds her arms a little defensively. “I suppose. It’s just like all the pieces are finally coming together after I tried to immerse myself in the whole concept. Thinking of Mia and Mason’s love story…their partnership that came about unexpectedly. Allowing myself to feel the vision of walking down the aisle in a beautiful dress, in a gorgeous setting—the whole wedding vibe. Imagining all the people you’re connected to present with you. Happy for you. It’s…special.”

I stare at her, waiting for the cynical Pen I know so well to reemerge.

“I kind of get it now.” She toys with her hair as she reaches for the words. “Like Mia and Mason fit so well together, and through planning the wedding, their love story captures everyone around them.”

Her eyes turn soft and dreamy as she speaks. “Raquel is so moved to contribute to her daughter’s wedding dress. And with her expertise, Tuck—it’s going to be spectacular! Ethically sourced diamonds, Tahitian pearls—plus vintage pearls from her Great Aunt. It’s absolutely layered with meaning.”

And just like that, she’s off again, full steam ahead, lost in design.

“Mayflowers?” I pick up on a random thread, trying to keep up. “Are you doing millinery elements now, too?” I ask, only half joking.

“Mia’s from Boston, and that flower holds a lot of meaning for her and her family. And when I realized what was missing—the pièce de résistance—”

Pen suddenly backtracks, bubbling over with enthusiasm. “I refined my peplum idea, scaled it way back, until it morphed into something else altogether. Tuck! I can feel the fall of the silk, the way it gathers on the hip with the perfect hit of bling. I’m going to track down that brooch designer in Newcombe that Misha and I came across. See if I can get a prototype ASAP.”

“Take a breath, Pen.”

“Ha! I’m excited.”

“I can tell.”

“Did you see my latest sketches?” She leans into the camera, peering at me. “I sent them through last night on that Telegram thing you set up. Or maybe that was early this morning—”

“Yeah, seriously, your security protocols are dire.” I shake my head. “You have important clients, Pen; you have to restrict who sees what and make sure no communication channels can be compromised. If word got out on whose wedding dress you’re designing…”

I stop as I pull up her images.

Pen’s sketches are usually spot-on in evoking the feel of an outfit, but this…this is something else. It’s a whole cinematic vision. I slowly flick through each stunning drawing until I’m at the back view—the bodice arching under the shoulder blades, the draping jewelry emphasizing the feminine curve of the shoulders. Every single detail is perfectly executed.

“You know this, right—that it’s fucking brilliant?” I ask in awe.

Pen’s hands fly to her mouth, her eyes gleaming. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Pen. Beyond good. You know who this makes me think of?”

Her eyes widen with anticipation.

I summon to mind the designer we pored over in our student days—America’s First Couturier. He didn’t just design dresses, he engineered fabric into forms that defied gravity, shapes that transformed the body into something both impossibly structured and effortlessly feminine and fluid.

“Charles James.”

“Noooo!” She shakes her head, grinning. “He was like the ultimate! I could only dream of being anything like him.”

“Seriously, Pen. Even the way you physically mold your designs to the body as you work. I’ve thought it before—you’re a genius. This is art, baby. Epic! When are you coming back here to work all these new elements into the dress?”

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