Page 51 of Date and Switch

“My love, you need tickets to the Louvre.” He pulled them up on his phone. “Ours are for tomorrow. Where we can spend the entire day, ogling the wooden breasts of Gregor Erhart’s most famous piece, and even reducing ourselves to…what did you say, taking a gander at a postage stamp sized picture?”

He laughed, pulling me against his chest and twisting my braid between his fingers.

“I promise you’ll be impressed with Mona even if she is smaller than one would think.”

“You’ve done so much,” I whispered. “I want to do something that you enjoy. Something just for you. It seems like nearly every stop you’re entertaining my whims.”

I thought back to all the various things we’d done at each port of call. Other than taking me on seventy-five million hikes that my ass cheeks still hadn’t forgiven me for, I couldn’t think of a single activity he’d geeked out over like I had with, probably everything.

“Sera, I mean this sincerely. Watching you experience the world, has been a million times more fulfilling than anything I would do or see in any of these countries. Besides, there’s plenty I’ve gotten to experience alongside you that I wanted to see as well. I want to watch you filled with joy as we hop from place to place, because your joy makes me happier than I’ve felt in months. Okay?”

I could only nod.

“Where are we going?”

“Last surprise. I promise.” He blushed clear up to his ears.

“That sheepish look on your face tells me that you’ve gone overboard with whatever this surprise entails.”

“Not at all!” His mouth dropped open in mock offense. “I… My reason for going has changed. Originally when I asked Esther to set up this meeting it was because I wanted you to feel special, to have something that made you glow from the inside.”

The cab stopped in front of a warehouse labeled Isabel Marant, Atelier Paris.

“After that night, when you told me about Cambra King, and Berklee and all the hurt that asshole director caused you, I wanted to give you a redo of sorts.”

He opened the door to the warehouse, and immediately we were greeted by a woman in all black, her flaxen colored hair pulled back in a loose bun.

“Bryce! It’s so nice to see you again.”

The two air kissed before she turned to me. “You must be Sera. I’m Isabel. Welcome to my studio.”

She led us upstairs to a loft area filled with fabric samples hanging in a rainbow of color and type, along with a multitude of mannequins in various states of dress.

“Bryce’s assistant said you’re looking for a ball gown? What type of event is the gown for?”

“Let me interject here, Isabel. Originally, I just wanted to gift Sera any dress that she could wear for one of many special occasions, charity galas, ribbon cuttings, opening night at the theater. However, I have a vision now.”

Isabel looked to me with her eyebrows raised, as if to ask if I was okay with him speaking for me. I still had no idea what we were even doing there. Meeting with designers to commission clothing was not anywhere in the solar system of my reality.

“Sera told me a few months ago about her favorite opera. Would you like to tell her which one that is, Sera?”

One of the mannequins had sequin embroidered tulle draped across it, in the most delicate shade of pink. I wondered what would become of that tulle. If it was destined for a ballerina in the Palais Garnier.

“The Magic Flute.” I reply, still mesmerized by the beautiful fabric. “When I was young it was one of the first operas I went to. The Queen of the Night had the most beautiful costume. I always wanted to be her. Her dresses were magical.”

Isabel grabbed her sketchbook, and elegantly assembled herself, cross-legged on the settee next to where I stood.

“Yes! The dress with the sequins, and the varying shades of blue that made the dress look like blue fire. Her aria dress, that’s the one you’re thinking of, right?”

Isabel began to build a dress in bold strokes against the page. The blue looking like the fire she’d just described working its way up the dress. Within moments she had a rough sketch, that looked nearly identical to the one I had in my mind’s eye.

“It’s gorgeous,” I told her, gripping her sketchbook and turning it towards the light to examine the intricate way she’d created a shimmer on the page.

“How soon can you have it made?” Bryce asked. “I ask in terms of logistics for shipping, not because I want to rush your talent.”

I wondered off hand how they knew one another. There were so many small things about his life that I was desperate to learn. To gorge myself on these small details that made up who he was and how he’d arrived at his successes.

“Oh Bryce, tu me vexe!” She slipped into French, shaking a chagrined finger at him. “Fashion week is less than three weeks away and you want to know how soon. If you didn’t own the building for my New York studio, I probably would have things to say.”

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