Diamonds are Forever (Diamonds Are Forever Trilogy 3)
By morning, there’s still no answer. I take off the underwear I slept in and have a shower. Donning the same outfit, I use the new toothbrush and hairbrush to make myself presentable. Still not having an appetite, I grab a coffee on my way to the boutique. I arrive early enough to change into one of my own creations before anyone else gets there. My shop assistant, Camille, arrives just before nine to put up a new window display before we open at ten.
For the rest of the day, I throw myself into work. It helps me forget I’m unhappy. It’s helps me forget what happened yesterday. I’ve walked out on my husband, and he didn’t come after me. In relationship terms, it means our marriage is in trouble. In our terms, it means nothing. I’m a prisoner in Maxime’s golden cage. My feelings aren’t going to change that.
We get a lot of traffic from the street. With the peak summer wedding season around the corner, many women come in asking for a wedding outfit. I’ve expanded to a selected range of wedding and bridesmaid dresses. Camille arranges the new collection in the showroom while I brew a fresh pot of coffee and catch up with my emails at the front desk. I’ll drop by the workshop tomorrow to check how the girls are progressing with the orders. I simply don’t have enough energy today.
A girl with dark hair and slanted eyes walks into the shop. I notice her because she reminds me so much of Christine from the design school.
“Can I help you?” Camille asks.
“I’m looking for a wedding dress,” she says, “but I’m very fussy.”
“I’m sure we’ll find you something you love.” Camille walks to the mannequins modeling some of the dresses. “If not, we can always design one for you.”
I cut their conversation out, focusing on an order of fabric as they go through the showroom. Camille is a great saleslady. She’s much better at selling than me.
The young lady browses through the dresses hanging on the rail when Camille goes upstairs for a tape measure.
“Oh, my,” she exclaims, taking down a dress. “This is exactly what I want.”
I get up and go over to assist her, and then I stop dead. The dress she’s holding up to the light has a sweetheart bodice with a wide skirt of diamante studded net tulle. It bleeds from white to the softest of pinks that ends with a darker hue at the hem. I have no idea how the dress got here or why it isn’t stained with hair dye and splashes of mud from the gutters. Maxime must’ve had it cleaned. He must’ve accidently moved it with my sewing material from the apartment, and Camille must’ve unpacked it with the other wedding dresses.
My mouth is suddenly too dry to speak.
“Can I have it?” The woman presses it to her body. “Please, please, please tell me it’s not for someone else.”
Finally finding my voice, I say, “Actually, that one isn’t for sale.”
She pouts. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
My smile is impersonal. It gives nothing away of my turmoil. “That was my wedding dress. It must’ve ended up here by fluke.”
“Oh, shucks.” She lowers the dress. “You can’t sell it then, can you?”
I think back to the moment I realized for who I’d made that dress at the fashion show. I remember why I loved it so much. It wasn’t the design. It was imagining wearing it for Maxime. I had hope for us then. I wanted to say yes so badly. I told Maxime yesterday everything was a lie, but my love has never been a lie. My love might’ve been a victim of our twisted circumstances, but it was never anything other than solid and real. However it came about doesn’t take away from its truth or depth. I fell in love with Maxime, and I love him still.
“Can you make me one along similar lines?” she asks. “Not the same, but the same style, if you know what I mean?”
I force myself back from the past to focus on her face. “Of course. Are you sure though? It’s not according to the latest fashion.”
“I don’t care much for fashion.” She beams. “I just want my dream dress.”
“Whatever you want. Camille will take your measurements and contact details. I’ll draw something and email a draft and quote, and then we can take it from there.”
She jumps on the balls of her feet. “Wonderful.”
Going to the desk, I take my handbag. It’s almost seven o’clock. “Will you please lock up?” I ask Camille when she comes downstairs with the measuring tape. We usually close at seven.
“Sure.” She smiles. “See you tomorrow.”
My heart beats with an unsteady rhythm when I take a bus and get off close to the apartment. I rush the last two blocks home in my heels. Maxime normally leaves the office at six. Urgency makes me forego the lengthy elevator and take the stairs. I’m out of breath when I reach our landing, and then I stop.