Page 91 of Love is a Game

But as we resolve that issue, my other problems poke at me like the devil with his pitchfork. I’ve bought myself time, but that’s all it is. The dress still has a sweetheart neckline. And now I’m juggling a party-planning job on top of fixing it.

“Damn, Tuck. How could I have gotten it so wrong?” My voice tightens with emotion. “The sweetheart neckline?” I cringe. “How did I screw up so badly? And more to the point, what the hell am I going to do now?”

Tuck watches me quietly, then cocks his head.

“Well, you can waste time dwelling on your fuck-up, or—”

I groan. “Orfixthe fuck-up.”

“Exactly.” Then, with more enthusiasm, he pumps his fist. “Fix the fuck-up!”

I give him alook.

He doubles down. “Fix the fuck-up!Fix the fuck-up!”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Tuck—”

“No, no, this is the plan. You get your sketchpad, and I get pizza and wine.” He throws an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the car. “It’s gonna be a long night, Pen. Might as well carb-load.”

I exhale, but I can’t help but smile as I mutter, “Fix the fuck-up.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Chapter 27

Tuck

There’s a fine line between brilliance and madness, and right now, Pen is toeing it.

She’s in the middle of her mother’s old dining room, surrounded by open sketchbooks, half a bottle of wine, and a growing mountain of lace.

Somewhere along the way, this crisis—Mia’s wedding dress gone wrong—turned into a full-scale design war zone. The big oak table is buried under fabric scraps and dressmaking pins. A lampstand is draped in silk scarves and a table runner. And Pen, perched on the edge of a chair, one leg tucked under her, is currently pinning doilies to the waist of what looks like a new bodice mock-up. Yup.Doilies.

I take another sip of wine and try not to ask questions.

Except as it takes shape, I can’t really refrain.

“Er, is that…apeplum?”

I mean—really? Sure, the peplum might have its roots in ancient Greece, but that doesn’t automatically make it iconic. I know Christian Dior had a good run with it, as a feature of his ’40s New Look: sharp, sculpted, dramatic.

But then came the ’80s, and, well, we all know what that decade did to fashion. Shoulder pads. Neon. A peplum revival that led straight into the questionable styling choices of the ’90s. And now Pen’s sitting here, draping doilies like they hold the answer to everything, and I’m really not sure where this is going.

“This can work,” she mutters, more to herself than to me, her fingers flying over the fabric, adjusting, refitting, completely in the zone. “We need to think outside the box.”

This is definitely outside the box: her grandmother’s old Singer sewing machine, lace tablecloths, a vintage beaded shawl…

”Um, what’s with the old jewelry box?”

She shoots me a look, one I know well. TheI swear to god, Tuck, don’t startlook.

So I don’t. What does it matter that, among the other random supplies, she has a padded box, spilling dangly earrings, knotted necklaces and pendants? Right now, all I can do is sit here, drink my wine, and hope to hell she finds the breakthrough she’s chasing.

Since I know better than to interfere with Pen’s process, I scroll through my phone. As I scan through various images, I realize the problem with peplums generally isn’t the peplum itself. It’s the proportions. Get it wrong, and it throws off the whole balance, making everything look shorter and awkward. Get it right, and somehow, it’s sleek, structured, supremely flattering.

The real crime of the ’90s? Wearing peplums with skintight jeans instead of wide-legged pants for balance. I skim past a photo of some European royal in a perfectly tailored pink set—a design by Carolina Herrera, who knows how to get it right. Then there’s a sculptural take on it by Alexander McQueen, and of course, you can rely on Givenchy for a softer, cleaner approach.

I mean. Maybe she’s onto something. When it’s done right, it can become high fashion, polished, intentional.

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