Brown-Eyed Girl (Travis Family #4)(75)

Two months earlier, an assistant from the studio had flown to the Warner home in Houston to render the drafted pattern into a muslin mock-up, pinning it meticulously to fit Bethany’s body. Since Finola had been told about the pregnancy, she had designed the gown to be easily adjusted to Bethany’s changing shape.

This fitting was the first for the actual gown, with much of the beading and trim already added. Today the garment would be adjusted so the fabric would drape and fall perfectly. One of Finola’s assistants would fly down with the finished gown a few days before the wedding, for one last fitting. At that time, additional alterations would be made if necessary.

As we lounged in a dressing room with a giant three-way mirror and a private seating area, an assistant brought champagne for Hollis and me and a flute of club soda and juice for Bethany. Soon Finola appeared. She was a slender, fair-haired woman in her thirties, with an easy smile and a lively, discerning gaze. I had met her three or four times during the years I had been in design, but each encounter had lasted for mere seconds during Fashion Week or at some crowded society function.

“Avery Crosslin,” Finola exclaimed. “Congratulations on the new gig.”

I laughed. “Thank you, but I’m not nearly as convinced as Jazz that I’m going to get it.”

“You’re no good at modesty,” she informed me. “You look positively smug. When do you meet with the producers?”

I grinned at her. “Tomorrow.”

After I introduced Finola to the Warners, she pronounced that Bethany would be one of the most beautiful brides she had ever dressed. “I can’t wait to see you in this gown,” she told Bethany. “It’s a global creation: silk from Japan, lining from Korea, beaded embroidery from India, an underlay from Italy, and antique lace from France. We’ll leave for a few minutes while you try it on. My assistant Chloe will help you.”

After a tour of Finola’s salon, we returned to the dressing room. Bethany stood before the mirror, her figure slim and glittering.

The gown was a work of art, the bodice made of antique lace that had been hand-embroidered in a geometric pattern and encrusted with crystal beading as fine as fairy dust. It was held up with thin crystal straps that glittered against Bethany’s golden shoulders. The skirt, adorned with scattered beads that caught the light like mist, flowed gently from the high-cut bodice. It was impossible to imagine any bride more beautiful.

Hollis smiled and put her fingers to her mouth. “How magnificent,” she gasped.

Bethany smiled and swished her skirts.

However, there was a problem with the dress, and Finola and I both saw it. The drape of the front panels wasn’t right. They split much wider over her stomach than I had sketched them. Approaching Bethany, I said with a smile, “You’re gorgeous. But we’ll have to make a few alterations.”

“Where?” Bethany asked, perplexed. “It’s already perfect.”

“It’s the way it drapes,” Finola explained. “In the month between now and the wedding, you’ll grow enough that the overskirts will fall on either side like theater curtains, which, adorable as your tummy is, will not be flattering.”

“I don’t know why I’ve gotten big so fast,” Bethany fretted.

“Everyone’s pregnancy is different,” Hollis told her.

“You’re not big at all,” Finola soothed. “You’re slender everywhere except your stomach, which is just as it should be. Our job is to make this dress fit like a dream, which we will certainly do.” She went to Bethany, grasping folds of the paneling, repositioning fabric and viewing the drape with an assessing gaze.

Suddenly Bethany jumped a little and put her hand to the front of her stomach. “Oh!” She laughed. “That was a strong kick.”

“It was,” Finola said. “I could see it. Do you need to sit down, Bethany?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Good. I’m just figuring out this paneling situation. I’ll be done in a second.” Finola’s gaze was filled with warm interest as she looked at Bethany. “I’m trying to figure out how much your bump will grow in the next month… Are you by chance expecting twins?”

Bethany shook her head.

“Thank goodness. One of my sisters had twins, and that was an unholy challenge. And the due date… has that been revised?”

“No,” Hollis answered for her.

Finola glanced at her assistant. “Chloe, please help Bethany out of the dress while I talk with Avery about the alterations. Bethany, may we leave your mother here with you?”

“Sure.”

Finola went to Hollis and picked up the empty champagne glass on the little table beside her. “More champagne?” she asked. “Coffee?”

“Coffee, please.”

“I’ll tell one of my assistants. We’ll be back soon. Come, Avery.”

Obediently, I followed Finola out of the dressing room. She gave the empty flute to a passing assistant and directed her to brew some fresh coffee for Mrs. Warner. We proceeded along a quiet hallway to a corner office lined with windows.

I sat in the chair that Finola indicated. “How tough is the paneling to fix?” I asked in concern. “You won’t have to take the whole skirt apart, will you?”

“I’ll have my pattern maker and draper take a look at it. For what they’re paying, we’ll remake the entire f*cking dress if necessary.” She stretched her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. “You know what the problem with the paneling is, don’t you?”