The Paris Dressmaker by Kristy Cambron

Author:Kristy Cambron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2021-02-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

22 September 1941

15 Place Vendôme

Paris, France

Amélie’s suite was a bazaar of garters and lipstick and ladies with glamorous waves lining every inch of the bathroom mirror. A last fitting before a big opera event that night spelled hours at the Hôtel Ritz with a gaggle of preening ladies, and Lila fit to be tied as the one dressmaker among them.

“Over here, dear Lila. I’m ready.”

Amélie dropped her day dress to her satin brassiere and girdle to step out of the pool of lilac on the tile in the mirrored alcove. Lila left Margot to put on another layer of lipstick while she moved back to dress their queen.

“Bien. Then let’s see where we are.” Lila held the opera gown out, helping her step in, and then shimmied the ivory silk up over her hips to see the fit over the deep V with lace and silk-covered buttons down her back.

Magnifique—even shoulders. Perfect drape. Clean lines along the hips.

Not wanting to pull too hard and risk a tear, Lila eased the button placket together at the back, finding it unyielding the farther up she climbed in fastening the buttons until . . . no close.

Impossible. Something’s off.

“I took these measurements three times,” Lila thought out loud, pulling and smoothing silk that refused to cooperate.

“Well, I may as well say it. It doesn’t fit.” Amélie’s painted smile faded into a line as she lowered her voice. She tossed a glance over her shoulder to the ladies flitting about beyond, checking that they were still lost in their own reflections.

“I just can’t think what my mistake was.” Lila gave up, rubbing a palm to her brow as she calculated what to do. “But it’s not going to button all the way up. That’s certain.”

“Non. It will not. So you will have to open the back and let it out as best you can.”

“What do you mean? Not by tonight. Amélie—we haven’t time. Not to redo this entire panel. The buttons and all the lace detail you wanted . . . it took weeks just to finish it. I can’t possibly have this ready by six o’clock.”

“And I am sorry to have put you in this position. It’s dreadful, but it couldn’t be helped.” Amélie wavered, looking at her reflection in the mirror and placing a palm over her middle.

Kilometers away from the portrait of a blissful mother-to-be, Amélie stared back with her hand frozen on her belly, meeting Lila’s glance. She gave a light toss of the shoulders in a shrug that didn’t match the weight of her eyes welling with tears. “C’est la vie.”

Lila placed a hand over Amélie’s wrist, giving her fingertips a light squeeze of support that was hidden from the rest of the girls. “Are you certain?” she whispered, horrified when Amélie answered with a curt nod.

“I thought it was all those cocktails making rounds at the parties. You know, the new one that Chanel so favors—the Sidecar? Ghastly yellow concoction if you ask me. I prefer the bubbly.

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