Arlene James - A Bride To Honor

“I’m so sorry. I must have looked a fright.”

He chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’d never have guessed there was such a pretty face beneath all that gray slime.”

She felt a flash of pleasure, then realized that he was teasing again. “Oh, you,” she said, getting to her feet and waving him to his. “Actually, in my business it’s very convenient to have such a plain, featureless face. It’s like having a clean canvas with which to work. If you’ll just come this way, I think—I hope—Tony has put together some possibilities for us.” To her surprise, he hauled her up short with a hand clamped down on her forearm. Heat flashed up her arm to lodge somewhere in her chest, spreading warmth subtly.

“Who told you that you were plain?” he demanded, brows furrowed. “William?”

“What? Oh...no, of course not!”

“Yours is a very delicate, classical beauty,” he insisted, skimming a finger over her wispy brows, down the short—too short, in her opinion—bridge of her nose, across the subtle peaks of her upper lip and over the rounded tip of her chin.

Cassidy was hypnotized. No one had ever told her that she was beautiful before. She almost believed him, he was so good at it! Then he took his finger away, and reality snapped back into place.

She shook her head to clear it and pointed tentatively into the other room. “Shall we?”

He stepped back, dropped his gaze and lifted a hand to indicate that he would follow her. She turned and strode purposefully into the other room, trying not to think how tall he was, not as tall as she had first imagined, because when they had stood close, she had noticed that the top of her head came about to his eyebrows. That meant that he probably wasn’t much taller than six feet, as she stood just about five-nine in these shoes. A perverse little gremlin in the back of her mind whispered that he was just about the perfect height for her, when she knew perfectly well that there was no such thing.

To her relief, the rolling rack that they used for the “possibilities” that customers had not yet tried on, stood in the middle of the third showroom. Cassidy hoped that Tony had used better judgment in choosing costumes than he had used in bringing Paul Spencer back to the makeup station while she was covered in gray glop. She indicated a small barrel, atop which a deep red cushion had been placed. “If you’ll just have a seat, Mr. Spencer, I’ll show you some of our more popular styles for men.”

“Paul,” he said, lowering himself onto the cushion.

Not a good idea, she told herself. He was simply too attractive a man to call by his given name, under the circumstances. She merely smiled and reached for the first hanger on the rack, displaying it for him with a flourish.

“This is our most popular costume at this time of year, for obvious reasons.”

Paul lifted a neat brow. “Dracula seems a bit trite to me.” “Right.” Cassidy moved the costume to the back of the rack and reached for the next one. “The corsair, or pirate, cuts a dashing figure, and it comes complete with earring, saber, and—if you tike—peg leg or parrot.”

His lips quirked. “I don’t think so. I’m not the earring type.”

“Okay.” To the back of the rack went the corsair, and out came the Red Baron. “This is a very romantic figure, the famous World War I fighter pilot. They have those commercials on television, you know, where the women swoon—”

He was shaking his head. “Swooning women embarrass me.”

“Ah.” She stowed the Red Baron. “How about Patton? We could silver your hair and pad your middle a bit and have you looking just like George C. Scott.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Dwight D. Eisenhower?”

“I’m not sure the military thing is for me.”

“Not even the Rebel soldier from the Civil War?”

He lifted both hands helplessly. “Especially not the Rebel soldier. We’re trying to expand beyond the Southern states at Barclay Bakeries, and there will be prospective clients at this party.”

“Politically incorrect, huh?”

“I wouldn’t want to chance it.”

“I guess the Yankee Blue is out of the question, too, then.”

“And the American Indian, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm.” She squinted at his very dark hair and reached for an idea. “I suppose we could try a Chinese emperor. A little makeup around the eyes and a pigtail...”

He merely folded his hands together, clearly underwhelmed.

“Rudolph Valentino as the sheikh?”

He considered that, then shook his head. “Not for this occasion.” He looked around him. “And no gypsies.”

“Prince Albert?”

“Wasn’t he bald?”

“Castro. No forget that.”

“And nix on Joseph Stalin just in case he’s your next inspiration.”

She made a face at him and was rewarded with that quick grin. “Stalin,” she murmured. “Russia. Hmm. Oh, my gosh,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Remember Tony Curtis in that marvelous old movie about the cossacks? Yul Brynner played his father, I think, and they jumped their horses over wider and wider gorges in a test of bravery.”

“Taras Bulba!” he said, coming to his feet. “Didn’t he die at the end?”

She shrugged. “He still got the girl.”

“Oh, yeah.” He folded his arms, one finger tapping his chin. “Yeah. I think I can do that.” The idea seemed to grow on him, and he nodded enthusiastically. “Well, let’s see it.”

Oops. Cassidy grimaced apologetically. “Uh, I don’t exactly have one in stock, but I can make one up for you.”

He stroked his chin. “I suppose it would be an original, just for me.”

Cassidy relaxed and smiled, even though it meant research for which she didn’t have time, not to mention designing, cutting and sewing—and fittings. She reminded herself that this was for William and said resignedly, “Exactly.”

“Excellent!” He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “So, how do we begin?”

“With research, actually.”

“Research! Very good. Where should I begin? I mean, what era historically?”

She blinked at him. “You don’t have to do the research yourself. That’s my job.”

“Well, how will I know you’re doing it correctly?” he asked.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Good point.”

He laughed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m just something of a purist, I guess. Anyway, I like to know things, and I don’t want to look like an idiot if someone asks me about my costume.”

“Very well,” she said, oddly touched. “You might want to research the movie, too, then. In fact, it’s more likely you’ll be asked about that than the historical significance of the costume.”

He considered this, nodding. “I see your point. It’s a pity that people always seem to be more interested in the movie than the history. I think we diminish ourselves with our lack of interest in history.”

“You know, I hadn’t thought that,” she said, impressed. He seemed oddly pleased. “Ah. Well. I, um, guess I’m off to do some research. Uh, what comes after that?”

“Oh!” Cassidy realized she hadn’t thought about fitting appointments. “We’ll have to have fittings, of course.”

“But, um, isn’t there something before that? I mean, I will get a chance to approve the overall design beforehand, won’t I? Or is that too—”

“No! No, it’s fine. Really. In fact, it’ll probably save time... really.”

He smiled at her. “Fine. So, um, when do I get to see the designs?”

Oh, jeepers, she had so much to do, deliveries to make, pickups at the dry cleaners, various mending, several alterations. She tried to think, then heard herself saying, “End of the week?”