Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
The opportunity to create something for Death came a few days later.
I hurried to answer the door. Adam stood there, carrying a big box. “Top of the morning,” he said in greeting.
“Adam! I wasn’t expecting you until next week.” I’d returned to his store the day after we met on the street and told him my plan.
“You inspired me. I was up all night. I couldn’t sleep.” He hefted the box inside and lifted the top with his free hand. Ivory silk billowed from within.
“It’s gorgeous! I—I mean, why’d you bring it here?”
“I can’t finish it without your final fitting.”
“I would’ve come to the studio. You didn’t have to drag it uptown.”
“I couldn’t wait. The dress was like fire in my blood; I had to get it out.” Adam unwrapped the garment, holding it up to the sunshine, the light sparkling on the clear beads that trimmed the waist. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. “Will you try it on?” he asked.
“I’d love to.” For modesty’s sake, I retreated into my room, stripping down to my thin chemise and drawers and wrapping myself in a robe.
Was this ridiculous? I’d met him only a week ago, yet here I was, down to my undergarments.
I felt completely safe, having discerned that Adam had no romantic interest in me—in fact, none of that interest in women of any kind.
He dutifully turned around as I slipped the dress on. He laced up the back, pulling on the built-in corset. He was not distracted by my robe at all. His focus was solely on the dress and its fit.
The dress was a vision, the color complementing my skin tone. The white silk rippled from my waist, gathering in a full skirt with emerald-green trim and ruffles. He stood back to assess every detail critically. “All you need are the gloves and a few tweaks here and there.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. I’d worn beautiful garments before. Some from the greatest French couture houses, but nothing quite compared to what he’d made for me. “I must say, Adam, you are, in fact, the most wonderful tailor in New York.”
“In the world, but we’ll leave it there for now.” He smiled, bending to pin the hem, his touch professional and efficient. It was refreshing that he wanted nothing from me but to be beautiful.
A knock interrupted us, but he kept working.
I opened the door, and Willa clapped her hands over her mouth in giddy surprise. “Tessa! You look amazing!”
“Thank you.” I warmed under her admiration. The dress hugged my every curve, making me feel powerful—strong.
“It is like nothing I’ve ever seen! It’s divine,” she gushed, circling to look at it. “It’s—oh!” she said, turning bashful when she noticed Adam. “I didn’t see you there.”
The tailor waved cheerfully. “Glad you approve of my work.”
“This is your dress?” Her eyes bulged, glancing between the dress and Adam. “You weren’t joking the other night, were you?”
“Nope. Happy you can appreciate it.” His eyes twinkled. “This dress deserves a night on the town. I know a happening spot; they play it all—jazz and blues—and we’ll have a time. You can meet my friend Pierre.”
Perhaps it was Adam’s innocent, radiant hope. Perhaps it was the dress. But it was so lovely to say yes. It was so lovely to have the desire to want to go out.
“Well then,” Adam said, “let’s hurry and adjust the length of this skirt so I can introduce you to the crew.”
I marveled as he labored. Maybe this could work. Maybe with his help, I could be ready for Death and give him something brand new.