Page 113 of Captured Fantasy

“Lucien?”

“He’s the boss.”

I paused, trying to imagine stoic, cold Lucien agreeing to hand me over to Cosimo. The idea felt strange, but not altogether unpleasant. Now that all the ugliness of our initial relationship was over and left in the past, he’d been nothing but protective and kind towards me.

“They’re here,” Olivia said, jumping to her feet as the doorbell rang.

The designer had come equipped with several dozen dresses. We went upstairs to the living room on the second floor and the housekeeper brought up champagne and juice. I lingered by the table while Olivia poured herself a glass of orange juice and dropped a cherry in it. When she turned, she caught my eye and blushed.

“Olivia, are you…you’re not drinking?” I asked.

A little smile split her face and she reached down, touching her lower stomach.

“You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, her eyes glittering. “It’s early, but I’m so excited.”

“That’s amazing!”

“I thought it would take a lot longer for me to get pregnant. I’m just…so happy, it feels like a dream.”

“How is Lucien? Is he excited?”

“He’s thrilled. I think I almost saw him smile when I told him, but it could have just been an eye twitch.”

We both laughed and I shook my head. “Well, that’s Lucien.”

“He’s been so protective, it’s sweet,” she said. “I threw up the other day and he stayed home from work with me and insisted on having a nurse come in to check me out. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s normal this early, but he’s treating me like a porcelain doll.”

“Men like being in control and this is something he can’t micromanage every step of the way,” I said, shrugging.

I wondered how Cosimo would be when I got pregnant. If his behavior so far indicated anything, he’d be worse than Lucien.

The designer appeared behind us, clearing her throat. I took Olivia’s hand and squeezed it as we made our way over to the racks.

“Congratulations,” I whispered.

She hugged me briefly. “Alright, enough about me. Iris should be here any second and she’s got some shoes for you to wear while you try the dresses on.”

The designer unveiled a series of dresses and set them up along the wall. I was just getting zipped into the first one, a frothy, blush thing, when Iris appeared. She was panting and barefoot, her hair loose down the back of her flowing, blue dress. She had a stack of shoe boxes in her arms, which she dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

“You’re a size seven, right?” she breathed.

I nodded. “Thank you, Iris. I’m sure some of those will work.”

She circled me, her hands on her hips. “That’s pretty, but it’s not very…you.”

I twirled once before the mirrors. “I like the skirt, the fabric is pretty. And I like ruffles.”

“You can always put a few extra ruffles underneath,” said Iris, winking. “Do you like all that frothy chiffon underneath? Can she see some more with that?”

She ordered the designer and the tailor about while Olivia watched in amusement. Most of the dresses were blush or cream, which was probably due to me this being my second marriage, but I didn’t mind. I let myself be pushed and pulled about, zipped into dresses, and twirled around like a living doll. After years of not having any family or friends, it felt wonderful to be fussed over.

“Let’s try this one,” Iris said, holding it up.

My breath caught. It was beautiful with a tight bodice and a deep sweetheart neckline and thin straps. The top was white and as it moved down, the top layer became transparent to reveal soft, frothy, champagne chiffon that draped on the floor. I let the tailor help me into and then I turned and tears welled in my eyes.

“It’s perfect,” I whispered.

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