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Authors: Jennifer Allis Provost
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pixels.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Sam replied. “Tell me about this wedding.”
“It’s for my cousin, Melody,” I whined. “She’s on my stepfather’s side, and they all hate me.”
“Then why are you going?” Sam asked.
“I kind of have to,” I said. “They’ve all looked down on my mom for the longest time, all because of me—mostly because I dropped out of college, wanted to be an artist instead of a slimy lawyer, and all that. If I don’t show up they’ll just harass my mom, saying I’m ungrateful, a brat…the list goes on.”
“So, she figures if she shows up looking like a million bucks with a hot guy on her arm, it will at least take the heat off her mother,” Astrid said, swirling her drink.
Sam looked at me and cocked a dark eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”
I looked him up and down. “You’re okay.”
Astrid snorted. “Come on, Sam, it’s common knowledge that every woman in the borough wishes you were straight. Just be Britt’s safe little date so she can shove her bitch cousin’s nose in it.”
Sam looked at me expectantly, so I said, “Well, yeah, that’s the gist of it.”
“All right, then, I need details,” Sam said. “Time of wedding, requested attire, wedding party colors?”
I blinked. “You’ll seriously do this?”
Sam smiled. “I’ll seriously do it.” Wow, did that mean he’d really go to my sisters’ birthday party too? He really was the best. We grinned at each other until Astrid cleared her throat. “About those details,” Sam said.
“Three o’clock wedding, formal but not black tie, no wedding party, and therefore no official colors,” I rattled off.
“No wedding party?” Sam repeated. “What kind of bride doesn’t at least have a maid of honor?”
“Melody isn’t what you’d call friendly,” I said. “Besides, she’s concerned someone will upstage her.”
Sam grinned that devilish grin of his. “Darlin’, you are just the girl to put this Melody in her place.” He stood, then he grabbed my hand and hauled me upright. “I’m taking you to Jorge’s.”
“Jorge’s?” I asked, Astrid echoing me.
“You’ll like him. He makes the costumes for Nash’s shoots.” Sam reached for his wallet. “How much do you owe?”
“Why would you pay for my lunch?” I countered. “Besides, I already took care of it.”
Sam ducked his head, then he walked to the curb and hailed a cab. “Astrid, you want to come with?” I asked.
“Nah,” she replied. “You two are like an old married couple. I’ll let you have your marital discord together.”
Normally I would have fired off a snappy comeback, but Sam had a cab waiting. I jumped into the cab, and held on for dear life as it lurched into traffic.
“Want to make out?” Sam asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’ve never made out in a cab,” I said, sliding closer. “You?”
The cabbie made a hard left, and I slid away from Sam. “Guess that ends that,” Sam muttered.
I patted his hand. “We can always find time later.”
The cab deposited us at a store front in Greenwich; the sign over the door read ‘ Tienda del Sastre .’ “This is Jorge’s? And he’s a…” I searched my memory; I’d been good in Spanish class, but that was years ago. “Seamstress?”
“I believe Jorge refers to himself as a tailor,” Sam replied. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the diva himself.”
The shop evoked every sample sale I’d ever patronized, what with its white walls and selection of timeless neutrals displayed on lacquered wood hangars. Sam led me through the shop and through a door at the rear, beyond which everything changed. This room, which was obviously Jorge’s design studio, was a riot of color. Bolts of fabric were heaped upon tables and stacked against the walls, and a shelving unit was full to bursting with all sorts of trim. There had to be a hundred kinds of lace, and thousands of ribbons in every color of the rainbow packed in every available
“Of that I have no doubt,” Sam replied. “Tell me about this wedding.”
“It’s for my cousin, Melody,” I whined. “She’s on my stepfather’s side, and they all hate me.”
“Then why are you going?” Sam asked.
“I kind of have to,” I said. “They’ve all looked down on my mom for the longest time, all because of me—mostly because I dropped out of college, wanted to be an artist instead of a slimy lawyer, and all that. If I don’t show up they’ll just harass my mom, saying I’m ungrateful, a brat…the list goes on.”
“So, she figures if she shows up looking like a million bucks with a hot guy on her arm, it will at least take the heat off her mother,” Astrid said, swirling her drink.
Sam looked at me and cocked a dark eyebrow. “You think I’m hot?”
I looked him up and down. “You’re okay.”
Astrid snorted. “Come on, Sam, it’s common knowledge that every woman in the borough wishes you were straight. Just be Britt’s safe little date so she can shove her bitch cousin’s nose in it.”
Sam looked at me expectantly, so I said, “Well, yeah, that’s the gist of it.”
“All right, then, I need details,” Sam said. “Time of wedding, requested attire, wedding party colors?”
I blinked. “You’ll seriously do this?”
Sam smiled. “I’ll seriously do it.” Wow, did that mean he’d really go to my sisters’ birthday party too? He really was the best. We grinned at each other until Astrid cleared her throat. “About those details,” Sam said.
“Three o’clock wedding, formal but not black tie, no wedding party, and therefore no official colors,” I rattled off.
“No wedding party?” Sam repeated. “What kind of bride doesn’t at least have a maid of honor?”
“Melody isn’t what you’d call friendly,” I said. “Besides, she’s concerned someone will upstage her.”
Sam grinned that devilish grin of his. “Darlin’, you are just the girl to put this Melody in her place.” He stood, then he grabbed my hand and hauled me upright. “I’m taking you to Jorge’s.”
“Jorge’s?” I asked, Astrid echoing me.
“You’ll like him. He makes the costumes for Nash’s shoots.” Sam reached for his wallet. “How much do you owe?”
“Why would you pay for my lunch?” I countered. “Besides, I already took care of it.”
Sam ducked his head, then he walked to the curb and hailed a cab. “Astrid, you want to come with?” I asked.
“Nah,” she replied. “You two are like an old married couple. I’ll let you have your marital discord together.”
Normally I would have fired off a snappy comeback, but Sam had a cab waiting. I jumped into the cab, and held on for dear life as it lurched into traffic.
“Want to make out?” Sam asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I’ve never made out in a cab,” I said, sliding closer. “You?”
The cabbie made a hard left, and I slid away from Sam. “Guess that ends that,” Sam muttered.
I patted his hand. “We can always find time later.”
The cab deposited us at a store front in Greenwich; the sign over the door read ‘ Tienda del Sastre .’ “This is Jorge’s? And he’s a…” I searched my memory; I’d been good in Spanish class, but that was years ago. “Seamstress?”
“I believe Jorge refers to himself as a tailor,” Sam replied. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the diva himself.”
The shop evoked every sample sale I’d ever patronized, what with its white walls and selection of timeless neutrals displayed on lacquered wood hangars. Sam led me through the shop and through a door at the rear, beyond which everything changed. This room, which was obviously Jorge’s design studio, was a riot of color. Bolts of fabric were heaped upon tables and stacked against the walls, and a shelving unit was full to bursting with all sorts of trim. There had to be a hundred kinds of lace, and thousands of ribbons in every color of the rainbow packed in every available
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