That's Amore! - Janelle Denison [66]
"Seems a shame it's going to be worn by such a she-devil," Ginny murmured. "I bet it would look glorious on you. Have you…"
Oh, no, Rachel wasn't a strong enough—or pathetic enough—woman for that. She wasn't about to start trying on other women's wedding gowns. Doing so would definitely put the exclamation point on the sentence, "Rachel Grant: Loser."
Clearing her throat, she said, "I'm just giving it a last once-over before the bride comes in for her fitting tomorrow. The way she was squawking over hating to have to wear a traditional dress to please her father makes me think she's going to be more unpleasant than usual."
"I think I'll call in sick tomorrow," Ginny said with a heavy sigh.
"Not if I call in sick first."
"Do you think Maddie would…"
"Maddie swore she'd quit if she ever had to deal with the Nazi bride again. Remember?" And they couldn't afford to lose their part-time seamstress. Not if Rachel wanted to have any personal life at all. Wedding Daze had been swamped in the few months since they'd opened and Rachel was only now getting some weekends off because of Maddie's part-time help.
"Come to think of it," Ginny said, nearly bouncing on her toes in excitement, "I have an appointment for my annual GYN exam tomorrow. I made it months ago." She clapped her hands together and lifted her smiling face upward toward the ceiling, as if sending up a prayer of thanks that some guy was going to be poking a big metal object up her… "So I can't be here."
Rachel groaned. Because that left her. She was the lucky one who got to deal with the Nazi bride. Rising, she regretfully hung the dress back up and zipped it back into its protective cover. "I guess I get to do it. Lucky me."
"Maybe she'll be in a good mood," Ginny said, not sounding optimistic.
"Yeah, and maybe Prince Charming is going to walk through the front door and sweep me off my feet."
"It's possible."
"But it's not very likely," Rachel said with a sigh. "I might get hit on every day, but not by men who could be called Prince Charmings."
"Sure they can," Ginny said with a cheeky smile. "Unfortunately, they're other women's Prince Charmings."
Rachel knew exactly what her aunt meant. "More often other women's Sir Scumbags. I swear, if one more groom with cold feet makes a move on me while his bride's in the fitting room, I'm going to go postal on him."
Ginny winked. "Just don't do it near the stock. Blood really doesn't come out of white satin." Turning to leave, she blew Rachel a kiss. "See you tomorrow. After my appointment."
"What time is your appointment?"
"What time does the Nazi bride come in?" Ginny didn't have the guts to turn around and look her in the eye for that one.
"Ginny…"
"Oh, all right. It's at eleven. So I'll be in after lunch."
Nuts. Maria Martinelli's appointment was at ten-thirty. Which Ginny probably darn well knew, judging by the way her shoulders shook with laughter.
Somehow, that laughter lightened Rachel's mood, even after Ginny left. She liked seeing Ginny happy, particularly since the two of them were each other's only family. Ginny had been a second mother from the time Rachel's mom had died ten years ago. After losing Daddy last year, there'd simply been nowhere else she wanted to be than with her only living relative—and very dear friend. The fact that Ginny now lived in Chicago had made the prospect of going into business with her even more exciting. Because Rachel had always longed to visit the big city, so different from her small hometown in North Carolina.
Hearing the bell tinkle over the front door, she smiled and shook her head. Ginny had probably forgotten the deposit again. "Maybe you should tie it around your wrist," she called as she entered the front of the store. "Or put it in your bra!"
But she didn't see her buxom aunt. Instead, she spied an eager-looking groom. One with whom she was all too familiar. She groaned softly, recognizing fat-fingers Frank Feeney, whose nice-but-stupid fiancée, Cassie, had left a half-hour