What had started out as a lark had turned into something more. He liked Holly Hollis. He really liked her. She was nothing like any woman he’d ever dated. Cute. Honest. Funny. Short.
And he’d lied to her, continued lying to her. About
who he was, how he’d come to be at the showing. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had time to confess, although explaining why he’d gone along with her assumption that he was Harry Hampshire, male model, was still a bit of a mystery to him.
“Well, here we are again,” Holly said as they stood just outside the busy entrance to the hotel.
“Yes, here we are,” Colin said, looking up, knowing his suite looked out over the front of the hotel.
“I really should go in now,” Holly told him, still holding his hands as she faced him.
“
And you have to catch a cab, right? At least you’ll have no problem doing that.”
Colin looked at the doorman who stood with a whis
tl
e poised between his lips. “Nope. No problem doing that,” he said, wondering how he’d tell the cab driver that he wanted to go once around the block. There had to be a big tip involved with that kind of cab ride.
“I had a very good time,” Holly told him, avoiding his eyes.
“So did I. Look, Holly—I have to tell you something.”
She looked up at him, frowned. “No, you don’t. I have to tell you something. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. It wasn’t fair of me to automatically not like you because you’re a male model. Because you’re so damn gorg
eous,” she added with a little s
mile.
“Yes, about that—”
“I mean, it’s not yo
ur fault you’re gorgeous. What a
re you supposed to do? Put a paper bag over your
head?”
He grinned. “Actually I had considered it
…
”
“Please, don’t interrupt while I’m apologizing, okay? Why not be a model? Why not think about getting into movies? You’d give Tom Cruise a run for his money, that’s for sure.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Colin said, stepping closer to her. “But the thing is, what happened today was sort of a mistake.”
“Oh,” Holly said, lowering her eyes, dropping her chin. “Okay. A mistake. I understand.”
He put his index finger under her chin, lifted her head slightly. “No, you don’t. I’m not saying our date was a mistake. I’m trying to tell you that the showing was a mistake. I never should have—”
“Upstaged the gowns?” Holly asked rhetorically, nodding her head. “I agree. But it was inspired, really. We’re going to get some good airtime on that kiss.”
“Which one?” Colin asked, momentarily distracted. “The one for the bride, or the one for the lady of the hour—you? Personally I liked the second one best. I never held someone who felt so small, so light in my arms.”
“That’s because you’d just gotten done flipping Jackie over your arm. Her gown and veil alone probably weigh more than me. But I’m sorry,
I
keep interrupting you. What are you trying to tell me? What are you sorry about?”
It wasn’t going to work. The moment the truth was out, she was going to hit him, kick him, or just burst into tears and run away. He couldn’t let her run away, even if he deserved the hit or the kick. What he had to do now was soften her up, make her more willing to
listen to him. Cloud her judgment a little, until he could make her understand.
“I’m sorry
I
didn’t kiss you twice,” he heard himself say. and the next thing he knew he’d gathered Holly into his arms, and his mouth was on hers.
He could sense when she went up on her tiptoes in order to be able to slide her arms around his neck, and he bowed his body slightly that he could feel the length of her pressed more closely to his body. She was little, yes, but she was all woman. Soft, and curvy, and with lips that knew how to be kissed, how to kiss in return.
Someone exiting the hotel, dragging a large piece of pull-along luggage, bumped heavily against Colin’s leg, and the next thing he knew Holly was standing in front of him, her eyes sp
arkling, her cheeks flushed. “
I have to go in now,” she said, then pulled a card from her purse and handed it to him. “Here. I’m breaking my own rule. Call me, please?”
“But wait—” Colin called out as she turned and actually began to
run
into the hotel. “I still haven’t told you—oh, damn it!” He could see Holly overtop the dozen or more tourists
trying to move themselves and t
heir baggage into the hotel, all of them following a tour guide holding up a flag in order to keep the group together. The elevator door stood open, and she rushed inside. “Holly, I—”
“Can I get you a cab, sir?” the doorman asked, and Colin glared at him.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll walk.” And then he followed the tourists into the hotel.
Three
H
olly sat on the thick Persian carpet the day after the
showing, holding young Maximillian Rafferty, II—or Max Deuce, as his father sometimes called him—and looked at her good friend and employer. “Julia, it was fantastic. We’ve got orders pouring in, the press has been very kind. I think it was the snazzy hors d’oeuvres. We served great stuff t
his time, even if my own taste
runs more to little hot dogs in pieces of pastry. I actually saw the reporter from
Women’s Wear Daily
tipping a plate of the shrimp-on-a-stick into her purse.”
Julia laughed as she pushed a lock of her sleek burnt cinnamon hair behind one ear. “I wish I could have been there, and the littl
e guy seems to be fine today,
but I just couldn’t leave him yesterday after we got back from the doctor’s office. This mom stuff is all-consuming.”
Holly looked around the room, furnished in comfortable overstuffed couches, fine antiques and a half dozen
colorful infant toys. The condo was huge, two floors and magnificent. It was al
so a home, a well-loved, lived-
in home. “You’re doing a bang-up job, Julia. And Max is still so cockeyed over this little guy that I’m surprised he hasn’t had him surgically attached to his hip.”
“He talked about it,” Julia said with a smile as she sipped hot tea from a china cup. “And it doesn’t hurt that Max-Two here was bo
rn
on his daddy’s birthday. I don’t know if I get any credit here at all.”
“Two Leos against one Scorpion,” Holly said, shaking her head. “Juli
a, you don’t stand a chance. Al
though I guess you’re going to try for at least one compatible Pisces or Cancer to even things out.”
“Oh, definitely. I’m not a slave to this astrology stuff, but I have to admit it, it works on Max. He can be ready to fly into one of his tempers, or go into a pout, and all I have to do is sling a compliment his way and he starts purring l
ike a kitten. Men. They’re so…
”
“Impossible,” Holly ended, then kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Ex
cept you, of course. You’re won
derful.”
The baby giggled, pressed his head back against Holly’s breasts, blinked his big blue eyes at her.
“Did you see that? Only five months old, and already showing signs of the true Leo. Compliment them and they’ll follow you anywhere. And drool on you,” Holly added, swiping at little Max’s chin with a co
rn
er of the soft cloth Julia had tossed over her shoulder when she took Max, telling her that it was either keep a drool cloth handy or be covered with damp spots on her clothing.
“Impossible, Holly? Who’s impossible now? Richard? I thought you’d stopped seeing him months ago. Yes, months ago. I’ve been so caught up with the baby that I guess I haven’t been paying attention. Surely there’s another man in your life, one you haven’t told me about yet?”
“Nope,” Holly said, keeping her head down, avoiding Julia’s eyes. “Mom’s given up on novenas. Last Pop told me, she was thinking about booking a flight to Rome and going straight to the Pope. Like five grandchildren aren’t enough for the woman? Why does she think I have to supply her with more?”
“Your mother is a sweetheart, Holly. She can’t help it if she believes every woman shou
ld be married, having babies. B
esides, I kind of agree with her. I didn’t know how empty my life was until Max and the baby. Success, a nice income, they’re both nice. But you haven’t lived until you’ve seen your sophisticated husband making a complete fool of himself in the delivery room, crying and laughing and handing out cigars. And looking at you as if you’ve just given birth to the first baby in the entire world.”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Holly said wrinkling up her small, pert nose. “You mothers are all alike. The glories of childbirth. But I watched my sister Helen during all three of her pregnancies. You guys don’t seem to mention the indigestion, the swollen ankles, the stretch marks. I’ll be an aunt, and be happy to be an aunt.”
“Five bucks, Holly,” Julia said, leaning forward on the couch to look deeply into her friend’s eyes. “Five bucks says that when you meet the right man the first thing you do is change your mind about babies. Your
baby, an adopted baby—any baby at all. Marriage is wonderful, but having a family? Well, it’s everything.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a family, remember?
B
ig
family. And if you’ve never sat at the dinner table on Thanksgiving, Christmas—name the holiday—and had that whole big family asking if you have a new boyfriend in your life, and when you’re going to settle down so that you, too, can try to eat turkey with a kid crawling all over you? Well, maybe then you’d change your mind.”
Julia took another sip of tea. “It’s still Richard, isn’t it?”
Holly rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not still Richard. Three male models, three strikes, and I’m out! Richard was the last, and I’m over him.
He’ll
never get over him, because he’s just so gorgeous he can’t help himself, but I’m over him. I must have been nuts, thinking someone that drop-dead handsome could ever love me. Thinking someone that handsome was even
capable
of loving someone other than himself,” she added, sighing.
“
But it was you who broke it off, remember, not him. Is he still sending you flowers, trying to make up?”
Holly grinned, Julia’s question putting her in mind of an old song. “Nope, he doesn’t send me flowers anymore. Or sing me love songs, come to think of it. And, no, I don’t regret breaking it off with him. We weren’t going anywhere.”
“Aha! You weren’t going anywhere. But, according to you, you don’t
want
anything to go anywhere. No marriage, no home, no babies on your lap during
Thanksgiving dinner. Holly, you don’t
know
what you want, do you?”
“Sure I do. I want to change the subject,” Holly said, standing up, handing the baby to Julia. She hated when her friend confused her with logic. “And don’t get any ideas out of this, because I’m speaking in general, not personally. But, now that your first showing has been such a hit, I want you to consider a special line of bridal gowns for Petites. Your same great designs, but sort of scaled down for bodies like mine. What do you think?”
“We do use Petites in our ready-to-wear, don’t we? But I hadn’t considered a special line of Petites for our bridal designs. You may have an idea here, Holly. Let me put Max down for his nap, and I’ll be right back to talk about that,” Julia said, heading toward the stairs. “Just hold that thought.”
Holly was usually an obedient sort, but she couldn’t “hold that thought” while she waited for Julia to reappear. She couldn’t hold any thought all that long, because one Harry Hampshire was crowding her brain, leaving little room for anything else.
She was attracted to him because he was gorgeous. Wrong. She was attracted to him because he was funny, and bright, and had this
smile
…
He’d probably practiced that smile in front of a mirror for hours, days, until he’d gotten it right.
He could make her feel so at ease, free to talk, say whatever was on her mind—from politics to what made a good French fry.
He was a model. Self-absorbed, appearance
conscious, always posing, giving meaningful, soulful looks that hid the fact that there might be a light in the
window, but nobody was really home upstairs, in his egotistical brain.
He hadn’t done the usual model things—insist on a very public dinner in a posh restaurant, a place where he could see, be seen. He hadn’t asked for another job, or even for a recommendation.
He was another Richard. Another physically beautiful clotheshorse.
He wasn’t another Richard. Richard wouldn’t have been caught dead in that greasy spoon restaurant, or have dared possibly dripping ice cream on his designer suit while they walked through Central Park.
He’d kissed her. So what? This was New York. People kissed each other all the time; it was like shaking hands, and sometimes not as intimate a gesture.
He’d kissed her twice. She could still feel the warmth of his mouth against her lips. She could still taste him, remember how it felt to slip her arms around his neck.
She’d made up her mind. She’d never see him again.
Oh G
od. She’d never see him again…
“All right, I’m ready,” Julia said slipping back onto the couch, tucking her long legs up beside her. “Petite wedding gowns. I don’t see why not. Tell me what you didn’t like about the gowns in the show yesterday.”
“I
loved
the gowns in the show yesterday, but I’d only fit into the largest size of the junior bridesmaid’s and flower girl styles,
”
Holly said, grateful to be talking business, so that Harry Hampshire had to step behind a curtain in her mind, wait for the next time she masochistically let him on stage again.
“But they don’t work for you,” Julia said, nodding.
“Only the one—”
“
June,”
Julia said, nodding. She’d designed a dozen bridal gowns for this first showing, and given them the names of the months. “Tight, off-the-shoulder short sleeves, alencon bodice, no sequins, modified A-line skirt, chapel train.”
“Right,” Holly agreed. “But even that one was about six miles too long. I put it on, and it damn near fell right off again, even zipped. Irene had to gather the material in the back with both hands, just so I could get even a vague idea of how the gown would look if it fit. And I had to stand on two boxes to see how the skirt draped because it was so long. We’re talking yards and yards of material being cut away, wasted. The entire bodice would have to be taken apart, put back together, in order to fit me correctly. We’re trying for affordable elegance, right? The alterations on that gown, in its smallest size, would cost about half as much as the gown. That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not,” Julia said, pouring both of them second cups of tea. “Stores usually stock several sizes of each gown for brides to try on, order from, but I can imagine how difficult it would be for a size two Petite to try to judge anything while dressed in a size nine Regular. What also isn’t fair is the limited selection. A Petite would drown in the more elaborate sleeves, and the amount of tulle in
July’s
skirt would make a Petite look as if she’d been attacked by giant ballet tutus. But, Holly, the same goes for larger sizes. The last thing a size twenty-two needs are padded shoulders to hold up pouffy sleeves, or gathers falling straight from the waistline.”
Holly watched as Julia picked up her sketch pad.
There were sketch pads all over the condo, in every room, so that when Julia’s ideas hit, she had pencil and paper handy to capture her inspiration.
Julia paged through the sketch pad, tossing over pages covered with drawings of blouses, slacks, a really fantastic-looking mother-of-the-bride design Holly had already seen and gushed over earlier. “Okay, here we go. Petites first. Take
April.
Keep the ivory organza, lose the puffed sleeves, give it the same off the shoulder, tight short sleeves as
June.
Get rid of the lace, and replace it—like this.”
Holly watched as Julia’s pencil flew over the page. “What are those?” she asked, pointing to the horizontal lines her friend had drawn across the bodice and sleeves, all the way down to the dropped waist.
“Folds. Tight, two-inch-wide folds of organza. Pleats, starting at the dropped waist, the folds of each organza pleat rising above the previous fold, all the way to the top of the bodice, and incorporated into the sleeves. Invisible stitching, so that the look is smooth. Instead of lace, or diamante, or beads, we use the fabric for bodice interest. Elegant, but simple. Completely, utterly without decoration. We keep the skirt plain, keep the fullness, with two deep pleats edging the hem. Cathedral train, because now even a smaller bride can carry that off, with the rest of the gown so simple.”
“And a simple cathedral veil, edged in one of those pleats? No real headpiece, just the veil sewn to an invisible comb,” Holly suggested, and Julia drew it, captured the veil in a few swift strokes. “Perfect! I’d wear that.”
“If you got married, which you say you’re never going to do,” Julia pointed out, closing the sketch pad.
Holly winced. She’d gotten Julia off the subject, then stupidly brought her right back to it. They’d joked, earlier, about Julia’s two Leos, which should have reminded Holly that Julia was a textbook case Scorpion, who’d never seen a secret she couldn’t ferret out if she just tried long enough.
“Ah, I saw that wince. Yes, Holly, we’re back to our original subject now,” Julia said, smiling. “Did you really think I’d let go so easily? Because you met somebody, didn’t you, Holly? Come on, confess. One of the models hit on you yesterday, right?”
“Okay, okay, so I met somebody,” Holly admitted, sighing. She might as well ’fess up and get it over with, because Julia was going to keep coming at her until she told her every last detail. “And, yes, it was at the showing yesterday. Harry Hampshire. His name is Harry Hampshire.”
“E-gods, I hope that’s his professional name,” Julia said, grimacing. “What this world does
not
need is a Holly Hollis Hampshire. Of course, all those
H’
s
never hurt Vice President Hubert Horatio Humphrey, right?”