Page 72 of The Wish List
“Are you looking for something in particular?” a woman asked.
Freya glanced up, ready to dismiss the shopgirl but felt her eyes widen. “I know you,” she said.
The stunning blonde, less shopgirl and more thirty-something fashion icon, nodded. “I know you, too, Freya Carlyle. I heard you were in town.” The woman stuck out an elegant hand. “I’m Mariella—”
“Mariella Jacob, the wedding dress designer. Several of theMarried on A Darebrides have worn your creations.”
Mariella wrinkled her pert nose. “Let’s be clear. They have worn creations of my former label, Belle Vie. The new management team made the deal with the reality show after I was gone. I would never design a dress for a bride who agreed to be married on a dare.”
“I can’t blame you,” Freya said. “Those unions don’t have a great track record for lasting much beyond when the cameras stop rolling.”
Mariella snorted. “Go figure. Were you ever part of that franchise?”
“No,” Freya said with a grimace. “I can’t resist a dare, which seemed like a bad combination. Not that I haven’t on occasion sold my soul for ratings.”
“A lot of people sell their soul for suspect reasons,” Mariella agreed, tucking a lock of golden hair behind one ear. A petite diamond stud winked from her earlobe. “It’s easy to get caught up in the fame and fortune. I’m not sure I sold mine, but I certainly rented it out to the highest bidder on occasion. I once designed a silk casing around a gown because the bride wanted to look like a beautiful butterfly emerging from the chrysalis as she got to the altar. Unfortunately, a woman shrouded in a white cocoon looks like a life-size tampon. It wasn’t pretty, but I was all about the money.”
“That’s something I would have paid to see.”
“Do an internet search for ‘worst wedding dresses.’ We made more than one list.”
“Now you live in Magnolia?”
“I do.”
“And you own this shop?”
“Yes. I’m also a partner in a local boutique hotel, the Wildflower Inn. We host weddings, so I’ve started working with brides again. Designing gowns, but on my terms.”
Freya mulled over that information, trying to reconcile the transformation with what she’d known about Mariella and her reputation as the go-to wedding dress designer to the rich and famous. “That seems so—”
“Boring?” Mariella asked with a smile.
“Normal,” Freya supplied.
“You’re right. It’s a far more common existence than I ever expected for myself and boring by the standards of my former life. I love it.”
Freya was intrigued despite herself. “Do you ever miss the excitement of how things used to be?”
“Not often. It would be interesting to return to that life as the person I am now. I like to think I would use the power I had to do more good in the world. But I’m managing it on a smaller scale. My fiancé runs a clothing company, The Fit Collective.”
Freya nodded. “I heard they moved their corporate headquarters to Magnolia. Things have changed since I was a kid growing up here.”
“I hope for the better. I’m helping Alex and his team with some design work along with my other projects. I’m now busy in ways that mean something to me.”
Mariella pointed a finger at Freya. “I can tell I piqued your interest with that statement. You want more than reality show notoriety.”
“I have more,” Freya said automatically. “I have endorsements and affiliations.”
“You want a life that means something,” Mariella told her as if she were some sort of well-dressed fortune teller. “I know that look. Ihadthat look. Although to be honest, I dulled it for a lot of years with alcohol and pills.”
“I don’t do drugs,” Freya quickly clarified.
“Then you are several steps ahead of me, friend.”
“I’m also not your friend.”
“I think you could be,” Mariella said, undaunted by Freya’s rudeness. “The Fit Collective has an ongoing campaign where we use real-life women and not just professional models. We’re trying to tell a story with the brand. You’re in the entertainment industry, but there’s more to you. Maybe you’d like to be part of it?”
