Page 6 of Free to Believe
I find some small pleasure in dangling this knowledge in front of her after the sanctimonious attitude I’ve dealt with for two days. “Your friend Susan also left me a message earlier still expressing her interest in this particular dress. If you’re deciding against it…” My voice trails off.
“You can’t sell my dress out from under me!”
“Actually—” I shrug. “—I can. We don’t have a signed contract.”
This is the part of my business I would happily toss over the fence to someone if I could find that right person who could convey the feeling I want my brides to understand about my designs. I want to spend hours lost in my studio creating and not dealing with pretentious brides who feel that just because they’re about to drop anywhere between ten to twenty grand on a dress, I should genuflect at their feet. Part of me would rather give my dresses away to someone who would appreciate them for what they are—art.
Despite my misgivings about my engagement, it wasn’t just excuses I was giving to Bryan last night. I am physically drained each night I drag myself home. I’m not only expected to sell dresses, I have to design for next season as well. That means studying market trends across all fashion and wedding business areas. I have to look at every trend from flowers, to cake selection, to shoes, to colors, to shapes before I can sit down and design what I think will sell. It takes a lot of time on top of the day-to-day operations of the salon.
And the more time I spend in this room of gray, the more I feel my soul disappearing.
Especially with brides like Lara Fredericks.
“Daddy! She can’t do that.” A perfectly manicured hand smacks down on top of my design book. I want to slap at it, but I manage to refrain. “Do something to stop her!”
A portly man, dressed impeccably in this season’s Ralph Lauren Purple Label suit, leans forward in his seat. “Ms. Freeman, can’t I leave a check with you for the full amount of the dress for a few days? This way, Lara can make up her mind without any of the pressure she’s obviously feeling.”
A small part of me feels for this man having such an atrocious spawn of Satan as a daughter. The other part of me recognizes she’s a creature of his own making. There’s a small part of me that wonders if I would have been like her had my parents lived—a spoiled society princess. Instead of voicing my opinions about his daughter, I ask politely, “Mr. Fredericks, I understand you run a business that’s traded on the Exchange? Your assistant mentioned it when she called to schedule the appointment.”
He brightens. “Why yes, I do. How clever of you to remember.” Lara frowns.
Leaning forward a bit, I ask him, “If someone was interested in investing in your company, wouldn’t you make sure the contracts were signed—particularly if you had an exact offer from a similar competitor who had an equal reputation?”
His eyes narrow at how neatly I’ve boxed him into his own corner. But he doesn’t disagree. “Touché, Ms. Freeman.”
“Daddy?” The panic in Lara’s voice is now unmistakable.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Ms. Freeman is right. You have to make a decision, or you risk losing the dress. If we have to pay extra for her services in France”—he eyes me shrewdly—“then I think they’ll be worth it.”
She recoils as if he slapped her. “But…I need more time. And you said you’d get it for me!”
He shakes his head. “Ms. Freeman has a buyer for this dress, Lara. If you don’t want it…”
“But I might!” she cries. “I’m just not sure yet.”
He shifts forward and stands. “Then it looks like you can compliment Susan on wearing the dress when you’re her matron of honor.”
She looks at him in a daze. “You’re really not going to get her to hold the dress for me. I can’t believe you. Wait till I tell Mother.”
I stand to my full height. In the sky-high heels I’m wearing, I’m towering at just under six feet. “Buying a wedding dress is an enormous commitment, Ms. Fredericks. If you’re not ready to purchase this dress, then maybe Reem Acra is the designer for you.” I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth. I should be trying to convince this bride I’m the designer to make all her dreams come true. But I just can’t put forth the effort to do so; I don’t have it in me anymore. I don’t seem to have the energy for much these days except existing. The glint of my own diamond engagement ring I snagged as I walked out of my house catches my eye as father and daughter continue to argue in front of me.
Briefly, I wonder where they went—the hopes I locked up so tightly in the vault of my heart. It isn’t that Bryan broke through the walls I built around my heart. If anything, he’s shored up the bricks so they’re more fortified than ever. I feel trapped inside myself, unable to escape with no sign of rescue.
I’d wonder if this vacant ache is how the average person feels when they’re “in love” if I didn’t see the proof to the contrary every day with the relationships my siblings have: Phil and Jason, Cassidy with Caleb, Ali and Keene, and Corinna with Colby.
Corinna once asked me what I wanted in a relationship. I realized I couldn’t tell her the truth: that I wanted to know I wasn’t a danger to someone by loving them. In the smallest part of me that I still have hope in, I want to believe love could exist for someone like me. So, I made up something about how maybe I could find the dream we execute for our clients every day: happiness. During the nights when I can’t sleep, I’m beginning to wonder if they aren’t the same thing.
“I’ll take it.” I’m brought abruptly out of my wandering musing by Lara’s voice.
“You will?” I gracefully sit down, when all I want to do is fall down in my chair. The price tag on this dress is astronomical. I hand stitched every bead onto it. It’s one of a kind.
An Emily Freeman Original.
“Yes. Since Daddy has agreed to pay additional for your services”—my bride can’t help the sneer in her voice—“I suppose we’ll add that on as well.”
James Fredericks rolls his eyes at his daughter. “What my daughter is trying to say, Ms. Freeman, is we’d be delighted if you would adjust the price of the gown that will undoubtedly look gorgeous on my daughter and accommodate its transportation—as well as your own—to France for her wedding in four months.”
Lara Fredericks flaps her hand at her father. “Will that do? Now Susan can’t have my dress?” she demands.
