Olivia Bennett: The Allegra Biscotti Collection

Paige bit her glossed mauve lip and finally let out a breath. “It’s good. The bodice will be amazing in this lace, right?”

The petite woman nodded furiously. “One hundred percent. By the time I’m done with it, it’ll be perfect. To-die-for gorgeous. They’ll be tripping all over themselves to get a photograph of you in this dress.”

Paige smiled slightly. “I just have to see it all myself. To be sure,” she explained to Emma and her dad.

“Of course,” Noah agreed. “It’s your wedding. Most important dress of your life.”

“Everyone thinks I’ve become a whacked-out, micromanaging bridezilla—even more of a perfectionist than usual, which is all very possible,” Paige confessed, smoothing the front of her slim-cut, gray knit minidress, which Emma thought was gasp-worthy. “But they’ll be positively vicious when I walk down the aisle. Everyone will want to find something wrong with my dress. You know they will, Lara.”

“They’ll have to look elsewhere,” said the smaller woman, whom Emma now realized must be Paige’s wedding dress designer. “Your choices are spectacular. They always are.”

“If they weren’t, Madison wouldn’t be the fashion bible, now would it?” Noah said, grinning warmly.

Wait…what did Dad just say? Emma wondered. Why did he just bring up Madison? It had always been Emma’s favorite fashion magazine, because it was the only one that truly focused on designers and their clothes. No silly articles about preventing wrinkles and choosing vacation spots or throwing flawless dinner parties. Noah knew that his designing daughter totally loved Madison .

“Oh, I’m late,” Paige suddenly announced, as her eyes darted to the wall clock above Noah’s head. “I’ve got to get back to the office. If anyone there knew I snuck out on personal business…” She grimaced, crossed her eyes, and made a slashing-of-her-neck motion with her forefinger. “Lara, can you figure out how they should get the lace to you? I desperately need to find a ladies’ room before I leave. It could take forever to get a cab at this hour.”

“I’ll take care of that with Ms. Suarte,” Noah said. “This is Emma. She’ll show you where to go, Ms. Young.”

Oh. My. God! Paige is Paige Young? She is the senior fashion editor at Madison! This was big . It was like a rock star appearing at a school chorus rehearsal. Or the President of the United States showing up at a student council meeting. And on top of that, Paige Young’s dress designer was Lara Suarte.

Emma remembered reading an article in Madison about her. She had recently become the go-to wedding-dress designer for Hollywood celebrities. So not only was Emma in the presence of a real fashion designer for the very first time, but also she was about to lead one of the most influential up-and-coming fashion editors to the bathroom!

“You okay, Em?” Noah asked, putting his large paw-hand on her shoulder.

“I kind of have to go now, if you don’t mind,” Paige pleaded, shifting from one slender stiletto heel to the other. “I just had a ginormous latte.”

“S-sure,” Emma stammered. She gestured for the fashion editor to follow her down Laceland’s long narrow hall to the bathroom, which was at the far end of the warehouse.

The two walked in silence. The only sound was Paige’s heels clicking on the bare wooden floors. Emma could barely speak, so she pointed at the ladies’ room door and turned on the light for her, since the switch was inconveniently located outside the bathroom behind some shelves. Paige waved her thanks and shut the door behind her.

Emma leaned against the wall to wait. She hadn’t said more than two words since Paige arrived. How can I get Paige to remember me? Emma wondered. I need to find something semi-intelligent to say before she’s gone, so I can make some kind of impression—as something other than the lint-covered girl who once walked her to the bathroom. But what?

Emma knew that Paige Young could make or break a fashion career. And even though Emma had many years of school and training ahead of her, Paige could be editor-in-chief of Madison by the time she was ready to show her designs. She couldn’t let this moment pass her by. If only her brain would start working…

They walked back to the showroom in silence. Emma felt her once-in-a-lifetime opportunity evaporating with every click of Paige Young’s stilettos. She ran through and rejected possibilities.

I design clothes. Who cares?

I want to be a fashion designer when I grow up. Could I sound any more like a pre-couture five-year-old?

I love clothes. Duh. Who doesn’t?

As they reached the reception area, Emma turned in an attempt to form words. She figured even a lame “nice meeting you” was better than being mute-girl. But Paige wasn’t there. She wasn’t anywhere!

Oh, no, Emma thought. I lost the fashion editor!

Emma raced back down the hall and into the dim warehouse. She retraced her steps to the bathroom, but Paige was nowhere to be found. Emma looked over toward her work space. It was the only area in the back of the warehouse that was lit up. Could Paige have thought that’s where the showroom was? Emma wondered. She hurried around the filing-cabinet wall. There was Paige! Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Until she saw her standing by the three dress forms and staring at Emma’s three sorbet-colored dresses.

Paige reached out and touched the fabric of each dress with a light, practiced touch.

Emma’s heart began to pound so loudly she was almost positive that Paige could hear it. Charlie looked up and took off his headphones. Emma shot him a “please-keep-quiet” look. By some miracle, he seemed to get the message.

“Love!” Paige exclaimed. “They’re so…Tahitian Sunset!”

Had Paige Young just used the word “love” about Emma’s dresses?

Before Emma knew what was happening, Paige whipped out her digital camera from her oversized black leather bag and started snapping away.

“Who designed these dresses?” Paige asked without turning around.

Uh-oh. Now what? Emma couldn’t tell her she was the designer. Paige would probably laugh, or worse, pat Emma on the head and give her some lukewarm encouragement. And Paige clearly was up on all the latest work by real designers—after all, that was her job —so if Emma told her the dresses were made by someone famous she would most likely know Emma was lying. Besides, how would Emma explain why these pieces were in the back corner of this random lace warehouse?

Just as suddenly as it had started, Paige’s photo frenzy stopped. She faced Emma and put her hands on her hips. “I know you can speak. I heard you before.”

I’ve got to say something, Emma thought frantically. She racked her brain for an idea. She hadn’t been this nervous since the time she had to give her first viola recital. She hated viola and hated having to play it in front of people even more. Her Italian music teacher kept whispering, “Play allegra! Allegra! ” An instruction Emma never understood. The word sounded more like a pretty girl’s name than a way to play the string instrument of torture.