Her Kind of Trouble. Sarah MayberryЧитать онлайн книгу.
and so full of herself after winning praise at a recent exhibition of student work at the institute, the offer—bold, brash, confident—had simply popped out of her mouth.
Jodie’s eyes had lit up on the spot, and she’d done a happy dance around the changing room. “Viv, that would be so fantastic. And I know that whatever you come up with will be my dream dress, because you are so amazingly talented.”
Panic had set in about thirty seconds later. This was her sister’s wedding day. Whatever Vivian came up with needed to be off-the-planet extraordinary. It needed to be the best, most creative, most sublime thing she’d ever designed.
Was it any wonder she’d choked every time she sat down with her sketch pad to try to rough out ideas in the following weeks and months? Was it any wonder she’d made no less than twenty starts on twenty wildly different designs before throwing each and every one of them out? And was it any wonder her sister had finally let her off the hook after three months of unreturned phone calls and excuses, assuring Vivian that she was more than happy to buy a dress off the rack if designing one was proving too difficult?
That Jodie had wound up selecting one of the dresses Vivian had so vehemently critiqued and rejected on their shopping expedition was the icing on the cake of her guilt and discomfort. “What do you think of the veil? I’m still on the fence about whether to wear it over my face, or to do something with it in my hair, or maybe not wear it at all.” Jodie picked up a lace-edged confection of white froth. “I tried all three options when we did the practice run on my hair and makeup, but I still can’t decide.”
Vivian pushed her feelings aside and stood. “Let’s have a bit of a play, see what we can come up with.”
She fiddled with the veil, trying different ways of pinning and draping it before slipping out to her car to retrieve her workbox. Big, black and heavy, it was actually a portable tool chest that she’d modified for her own purposes, the compartments filled with all manner of trims, haberdashery and sewing supplies she’d collected over the years. She rummaged through the sections until she found what she was looking for—delicate grey feathers that had been dusted with silver and some paste diamond jewelry she’d picked up at a yard sale. She tried a few different options before hitting on the right combination of antique brooch and feathers, pinning the veil so that it fell in delicate, sensuous folds down her sister’s back.
“Oh, wow.” Jodie inspected herself in the mirror. “Viv, I love it. Thank you,” she said, flinging her arms around Vivian.
Vivian hugged her sister, even though she knew she didn’t deserve her gratitude. “If you like, I could come up with something similar for your belt, embellish it a little. I could do it tonight, have it ready for you tomorrow morning.”
Jodie’s smile faltered and Vivian knew she was thinking about the dress-that-never-was, along with all the other things Vivian had screwed up over the years.
“We’ve got the dinner tonight. I don’t want you to feel pushed for time,” her sister said diplomatically.
“I won’t be. It’ll take me an hour, two tops. I really want to do this, Jodie.” She left the rest of her plea unspoken. They both knew that a few embellishments on a belt and veil didn’t come even close to compensating for how badly Vivian had let Jodie down, but it was something.
“Okay. Sure. Why not?” Jodie said, and it killed Vivian that she could hear her sister talking herself into trusting her again.
“I’ll draw up some sketches before dinner and run them past you.”
“You don’t need to do that. You have wonderful taste. Whatever you do, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
The bedroom door opened then and their mother and the other two bridesmaids barged in, laden with champagne and glasses, all of them talking at once.
“God, Jodie, you look gorgeous! Like a fairy-tale princess,” one of them said.
Vivian smiled to herself as she cleared her things out of the way. The princess reference was sure to meet with her sister’s approval.
She stayed for one toast, but the belt was playing on her mind—she refused to let her sister down again—so she made her excuses and retreated to her childhood bedroom to sketch some ideas.
Their mother had converted Jodie’s room into a study the moment she moved out, but she’d kept Vivian’s as it was when she’d struck out on her own a year later, “just in case” Vivian needed it. The message being that while sensible, down-to-earth Jodie couldn’t possibly fail to succeed in the adult world of rent and utility bills, flighty, unreliable Vivian was a much shakier proposition
The galling thing was her mother had been right. Vivian had had to move home twice—once when she’d lost her job working in retail fashion, the second when she’d had a falling-out with her housemates. Worse, things were looking shaky at the apartment she shared with two other students at the moment, too.
Vivian sighed. It would totally suck to crawl home a third time.
Sitting on her bed, she arranged the remaining feathers off to one side, placing a selection of antique brooches next to them. She had another rummage through her workbox and unearthed a packet of pewter-grey and white sequins, along with some seed pearls.
Perfect.
Taking up her pad and pencil, she started to sketch. She had roughed out a design and arranged the component pieces on the belt when someone rapped on her door. She looked up, only registering how long it had been since she moved when her neck objected.
Her mother entered, dressed in a bronze silk pants suit, her faded red hair sprayed into a stiff helmet, gold jewelry gleaming at her ears, throat and wrists.
“Vivian. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We leave for the restaurant in twenty minutes.” Her expression became exasperated when she saw that Vivian was still in her jeans. “You’re not wearing that, are you? This is the first time we’ll be meeting some of Jason’s extended family.”
Vivian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her idea of fashion and her mother’s had diverged a long time ago, but even she knew jeans were not acceptable for the private dining room of a swanky restaurant.
“I’ll be ready,” she said. “And I brought a dress.”
Her mother’s gaze dropped to the bed. “That’s not Jodie’s belt, is it? Does she know you have it?” Her mother started forward, clearly determined to rescue it from Vivian’s clutches.
Vivian rested a protective hand over the arrangement she’d spent hours perfecting.
“Jodie gave it to me. I’m finessing it.”
Her mother pursed her mouth. “I hope this isn’t going to be like the dress. The wedding is tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mum, I’m well aware of that.”
“There’s no need to take that tone. I’m thinking of your sister. This isn’t the time for you to go off on one of your whims.”
“I’ll finish tonight.” Vivian ground out the words.
It was one thing to admit to yourself you were a screwup, but it was another thing entirely to have it pointed out by your nearest and dearest. Repeatedly. Ad nauseam.
“I’ll leave you to change, then.” Her mother gave the belt one last mistrustful glance before leaving.
Viv growled, then carefully unfolded her legs so as not to disturb the sequins and pearls. She didn’t have time for a shower, so she concentrated on fixing her makeup before shedding her clothes and pulling on her dress. One of her own designs, it was made from an inky-blue wool crepe and had a loose blouson top with a peekaboo central split and a fitted pencil skirt. She’d been growing her strawberry-blond hair out of a short crop for the wedding, and she pinned it up before spritzing on perfume and racing downstairs.
“Only five minutes late.” Her father made a show of checking his