Page 9 of Wedding Season
The middle-aged woman who stood on the other side of the door looked vaguely familiar although Mariella couldn’t place the connection. A gust of wind blew through the open door, making the chimes on a nearby display tinkle in the silence that stretched between Mariella and the stranger. The air was cool, which would change soon as spring gave way to the oppressive heat of summer, but a disconcerting line of sweat pooled at her hairline. There was something about the woman...
“May I help you?” she asked, not bothering to keep the edge from her voice. She treasured her quiet mornings listening to old Joni Mitchell albums and immersing herself in the business side of running her small store.
“It really is you,” the woman said with a faint sense of awe. “I’d heard talk around town and even saw your name in the local paper for some wedding you planned, but I didn’t believe it.”
Mariella froze. She still didn’t think she knew the stranger but recognized the stink of wealth and big-city polish written all over the woman despite her casual attire. She had to be someone from Mariella’s past. This was the reason she didn’t want her name in the public eye anymore. She’d had her brush with fame and had the scars to prove it. They’d mostly mended but sometimes the whisper of a phantom ache felt like legitimate physical pain.
“I’m Luann Bowman,” the woman told her. Recognition dawned swift and sudden.
“From the Fit Collective.” Alex Ralsten’s new business partner and a woman whose fall from fashion grace was as legendary as Mariella’s own.
“I wanted to meet you,” Luann said. “May I come in?”
Mariella’s first reaction was to slam the door in the woman’s face. The way Luann studied her was troublesome. Like she knew the guilt and shame Mariella carried deep inside, not just for her outburst at Alex’s wedding but the other mistakes she’d made in her life. The ones that were even more shameful.
She didn’t want to have anything in common with Luann. They weren’t military veterans who could compare war stories like heroes returned from conflict. They were women who had made terrible choices, but Mariella had done her best to bury her feelings about the past within the secret recesses of her soul.
Luann raised a sharp brow as if in challenge. Mariella had the simultaneous realization that this woman was a fighter and that she probably didn’t play fair.
There was no way for Luann to know that Mariella could never resist a challenge, but she’d thrown down the gauntlet just the same. With the bone-deep suspicion that she’d regret it, Mariella stepped back to allow the other disgraced fashion designer into her shop. She watched as Luann studied the store and couldn’t decide if she took in the space with a discerning or dismissive eye. Either way, the perceived judgment rankled.
“So this is how you’ve reinvented yourself?”
“Don’t worry,” Mariella said, proud of the condemnation that dripped from her tone. “I’m not going to start carrying competing athleisurewear lines and giving you and Alex a run for your money in the local community.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Luann breathed out a shrill laugh. “Alex has way bigger plans for the Fit Collective than coastal North Carolina. But you know his history so you must understand his pedigree and the expectations he places on himself.”
Mariella bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from answering. She knew enough about Alex and his estranged father, domineering stepfather and brittle mother, as well as the contentious relationship the different factions of that powerful family had with each other. It was the stuff of society rags, but Alex’s reputation had always remained golden-boy pure as far as she could tell. At least until his wedding day.
“Are you looking for a particular outfit?” It felt safer to switch into sales mode. “I can make some recommendations although I’d prefer if you came back during business hours.”
“I like you,” Leann said quietly.
“I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.” Mariella didn’t bother with niceties. Luann exuded a familiarity that grated on her nerves, and she didn’t want to admit that she recognized an unwanted kinship with the woman.
Luann flashed a wide grin. “Your honesty makes me like you even more. I want to hire you.”
Mariella lifted her hands. “As you can see, I have a job.”
“A couple of them,” Luann clarified. “I’ve seen photos from the weddings you’ve helped plan. You have an eye for design. Not just fashion, although I think a few of the wedding dresses you’ve created recently have been far more interesting than anything you did with Belle Vie.”
That pricked. “I was extremely successful with Belle Vie,” Mariella countered. “There were brides all over the world who wanted to wear my gowns on their wedding day.”
“No doubt,” Luann agreed easily. “But we both know that a large portion of success in the fashion world is good branding and perception. I became a millionaire many times over on that principle.”
“There’s a difference between us.” Mariella crossed her arms over her chest. She’d thrown a thick flannel shirt over the silk blouse she wore because it was often cold in the back of the store in the early morning.
She shouldn’t care what this woman thought about her style or her current choices in life, but she couldn’t resist engaging, never one to turn away from a fight. “Even at the height of my fame, I respected the women who hired me. I never would have publicly shamed them.”
Luann’s breath hitched, and Mariella knew she’d hit a nerve with the seemingly unflappable woman.
“That’s exactly why I’m here.”
“To tell me about how you disrespect your customers?” Mariella raised a brow. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to take your confession on that front.”
Luann shook her head. “I love my customers.”
“At least the ones with thigh gap,” Mariella quipped. She remembered one of Luann’s infamous interview answers—that the clothes she designed were more suited to women in the best shape of their lives. Mariella didn’t understand it even then. It wasn’t just whip-thin women or those with lots of muscle who wanted to be active.
