14. Natasha
NATASHA
“Iswear it’s literally the most adorable thing I’ve ever made!” Stacy gushed as she led me through what I’d dubbed as the costume emporium.
“I’m sure it is.”
“I really hope she likes it because I want to make about ten more.”
“How many princess dresses does one girl need?”
Stacy whirled around, concerned. “Was that an actual question?”
“Umm…” I laughed. “No, of course not. What was I thinking?”
Stacy rolled her eyes before marching off. “Honestly, Natasha.”
“What?” I chased after her. Most of Stacy’s apartment was adorned with costume-related paraphernalia, especially when she was in the middle of prepping for a show, but the second bedroom was where she claimed the real magic happened.
As we walked through the door, I spotted her massive sewing machine buried under a mountain of fabric.
There were shelves of scraps and shiny buttons and zippers and every color thread imaginable.
The walls were crammed with wire racks draped in finished pieces and thrifted inspiration finds that Stacy sometimes used as patterns.
And in the middle of the room was her cutting table where she chopped and pinned until things were perfect.
Stacy disappeared behind one of those wire racks, reappearing a moment later with a hanger strung over her finger. She dangled a frilly princess dress out in front of my face.
“Well?” she said, beaming. “What do you think? Does this scream birthday girl or what?”
I’d never seen so many bows in my entire life. “It’s definitely something…that a little girl having a birthday party would like.” I mean, not me as a little girl. But I trusted that Dominic knew his daughter well enough to ask Stacy to make the dress in the first place.
Stacy lowered the hanger and squealed at her own work. “It’s so dang cute! I can’t wait to give it to her.”
“I’m sure Hailey’s going to love it. That was her name, right?”
Stacy nodded. “Yeah. Dominic keeps texting me for updates, and I keep telling him no spoilers until the party.”
“So you two are talking a lot?” I said casually.
“Almost every day,” Stacy admitted. “I wondered if we’d run out of things to talk about once the dress was done, but he’s just so great, Tash. Maybe I should have stopped dating theater guys a long time ago.”
“So has talking moved to dating?”
“No…I don’t know. We haven’t really discussed it.” She shrugged and smiled. “But I’m not concerned. It feels right.”
Ah, there was my forever-optimist. “Well, as long as you’re happy.”
“I am. I was even happier to hear that you’re going on a date! Speaking of,” she sang, twirling away with the princess dress in hand. She disappeared behind another rack. I tried not to trip over stray scraps of material as I followed her. “This is the dress I was thinking you could wear tonight.”
My stomach flip-flopped. When Stacy had offered up a dress for me to borrow, I hadn’t realized she was talking about one she’d made.
I loved the girl, but last I checked, her latest project was some sort of futuristic steampunk mashup ensemble.
The last thing I needed was to meet Trent looking like a deranged robot.
“Here it is!” she announced, pulling a dark blue gown off one of the racks. She presented it to me with a flourish.
My jaw dropped. “Stacy, it’s gorgeous.”
“Isn’t it?” she said, giving me a little giggle. “And what’s more important is that you’re going to look ridiculously hot in it.”
“I can’t believe you made this.”
“It’s for a new production,” Stacy said.
“The steampunk thing?”
“No. It’s some jazzy Hollywood club whatever.” She waved off the explanation. “It’s got this big glamorous nightlife scene. Thought you could take it on a test drive for me.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “See what Trent thinks of it.”
Trent was picking me up at seven. That left me about an hour to get ready.
I’d already spent far too long standing in my own closet lamenting the fact that I had nothing to wear, before Stacy had come to my rescue, insisting that she had just what I needed.
And damn if she hadn’t been dead on the money.
“Well?” Stacy said, shoving the dress into my hands. “What are you waiting for? Go try it on!”
“Okay, I’m going,” I said, laughing as she ushered me down the hall and into the bathroom.
I shimmied out of my clothes, a little worried I wouldn’t be able to get the dress on.
A lot of the wannabe actresses she designed for were waifish to the extreme.
If that was the case with whoever this dress was for, I was going to have some trouble getting my boobs in the dress. Never mind my hips and ass.
But as I slid into the dress, the fabric shifted against me like a glove, just stretchy enough to accommodate my curves.
I popped the bathroom door open before Stacy could bash it down.
She twisted me around, tugging the zipper up, then looked over my shoulder.
We both stared at my reflection in the mirror as I turned back and forth, the light catching the sparkles in the fabric.
“That is so your color,” Stacy said proudly. “I knew it. Trent’s eyes are gonna bug out of his head.”
“Stacy,” I muttered, a little self-conscious even as I acknowledged how good the dress looked on me.
“What? Your boobs look amazing.” She took a step back. “So does your ass, for that matter. God, I’m good.”
I turned around. “It’s almost like you should get paid to do this,” I teased.
She placed her hands on my shoulders. “Now the most important question of all. What are you doing with your make-up?”
“Oh…” I hadn’t thought about it. I usually just swiped some mascara across my eyelashes in the mornings. “Something simple I guess.”
“In this dress?” She cackled, hooked her arm through mine, and led me back to her bedroom where she had a large make-up vanity. She gestured with her hand. “Sit.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t look so concerned,” she said, pulling open a drawer. She had more eyeshadow palettes than I had power tools. “How do you feel about a smokey eye?”
“Holy shit,” Stacy said a half hour later, holding my face in her hands and inspecting her handiwork. “I’ve even impressed myself.”
I twisted around on the stool, taking a long look in the mirror. Wow. She’d definitely embraced the smokey eye, adding a dark lip to match.
“What do you think?” Stacy asked, dancing at my side like an older sister sending me off to prom.
I tilted my head back and forth. My curls were behaving for once in their life, and the make-up played off the dress perfectly. I had to admit I looked damn good. Hopefully, Trent would think so too. “If costume designing doesn’t work out, maybe you can become a make-up artist.”
My phone started buzzing on Stacy’s bed.
“Is that him?” she asked.
I jumped to my feet, snatching it up. “He’s downstairs.”
“Okay, go, go!” She ushered me down the hall, handing me my purse. I’d brought my own heels and slid them on at the front door. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
I straightened up, smoothing my hands down the front of the dress. “Sure I look okay?”
“You look hot as hell. Now go have a good time. Everything’s going to be perfect.”
“Perfect,” I repeated as she swung the door open and stepped out into the brisk evening. For once, I was actually in the mood to embrace her endless positivity.
“Have fun,” Stacy called after me.
I staggered to a stop on the steps, looking down at Trent standing on the sidewalk outside the brownstone. Sometimes the mere sight of him took my breath away. Oh, the fun I wanted to have with Trent Saunders.
I got a hold of myself, walking down the stairs to greet him, careful not to trip over my own feet as I took in all six-foot-whatever of his perfectly chiseled frame. His dark hair was swept back out of his eyes, tousled in a way that made me want to run my fingers through it.
“Hi,” I said as I reached the sidewalk.
“Hi,” he said, his eyes raking over me. “You look…” A smile curled his lips. “Amazing, Natasha. You look amazing.”
“You look pretty amazing yourself,” I said.
He caught my hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. Butterflies exploded in my gut. No one had ever done that before. “I mean it, Natasha. That dress is—”
I smirked. “You can thank Stacy for the dress.”
“Oh, I will,” he growled, tugging me close enough that the words tickled my ear.
He pulled the door of his chauffeured car open for me, reaching out to give me a hand.
I stepped into the vehicle, sliding across the leather seats.
A dark glass divider was rolled up between us and the driver.
Trent slid in next to me, leaning forward to knock on the window.
The driver set off.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I asked, arranging myself to give Trent a great view of my cleavage. He touched his finger to my cheek, sliding it along my jaw and down my neck, pausing to tap at the hollow at the base of my throat. My pulse raced.
“Just a little place I like,” he said.
“That’s all I’m getting?”
He chuckled, the sound dark and velvety. “That’s all you’re getting.”
“At least give me a clue.”
“It’s in Manhattan.”
“Oh, gee, thanks. That’s a big help.”
He laughed, leaning close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. It made me shiver. “I am very helpful.”
My pulse galloped as his lips hovered just short of mine.
I wanted to close the distance, to press myself against him, but if I did that, I had a feeling things would quickly get out of hand.
I sat back in my seat, determined to behave myself.
Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of a massive high-rise on a busy street.
Trent shoved the door open, climbed out, and offered me a hand. I glanced up as I stepped out, my brow arching. “La Fleur?” I said, recognizing the midtown hotel famed for its gorgeous rooftop club. I’d walked past it often but never imagined going inside. “This place is impossible to get into.”