Sarah was bursting with excitement. She was so honoured that Margherita had asked her to join her for this special moment. It really solidified in her mind how close the two had become in such a short time.
The woman reappeared and slowly made her way to Margherita with a tan-coloured dress bag. She asked Sarah something in Italian, too quick for Sarah to break down and register, and Margherita explained, ‘She’s asking you to close the curtain.’ She gestured to the maroon velvet curtain gathered to one side of the narrow-set front window. ‘And lock the front door.’
Sarah did as she was told. Once Margherita had some privacy from the outside world, she stripped back to her underwear and bra. The woman, whose hands were calloused and worn from literally decades of sewing, pulled Margherita’s dress from the bag, allowing it to fall in a perfect circular formation at Margherita’s feet. Taking one step forward into the dress, Margherita pulled it up her torso and over her shoulders.
Sarah couldn’t yet see Margherita’s reflection, as the woman was standing in the way, but she could make out the calf-length tea dress silhouette, trimmed with scalloped lace.
The woman suddenly called upon Sarah again for help, this time to fasten the many small silk-covered buttons running the length of the rear zipper.
Sarah finally saw Margherita’s reflection, and suddenly teared up. ‘Oh, Marghe. You look absolutely beautiful.’ Her hands clasped over her mouth and she took a step back to better appraise her.
‘It’s ok?’ Margherita asked.
‘It’s . . . it’s . . . There’s no one else in the world who could wear that dress. You look ethereal.’
The woman had understood the gist of Sarah’s comment, and added, ‘Perché era l’abito da sposa di sua madre.’
Sarah stopped. ‘Did she say, “mother”?’
Margherita’s hands smoothed the simple raw silk skirt, and said, ‘Yes. This was once my mother’s wedding dress.’
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears of joy at the incredibly beautiful sentiment. ‘Marghe . . . I am so happy for you.’ She threw her arms around her friend, only to find the rear buttons still undone. ‘God, look at me over here getting all emotional, and you’re not even done up yet!’
Button by button, Sarah patiently fastened the dress and the woman went about checking each seam and pleat for perfection. While she stood there, pivoting and turning every thirty seconds or so, Margherita flicked through the photos on her phone. ‘From before,’ she said, handing the phone to Sarah.
It was a photo of Margherita, timestamped four months ago, in the very same studio. She wore a dated floor-length dress with puffy sleeves and an overly decorative neckline. It was in the same ivory raw silk as she wore today. ‘This isn’t the same dress, is it?’ Sarah asked, not believing her eyes.
‘It is. Giovanna worked her magic. She pulled it apart and completely restyled it for me.’
The chic design she wore today, with a sweetheart neckline, gently pleated skirt and lace waist-tie, could not have looked any more different. Giovanna had taken the essence of the original dress and captured the simplicity and modesty of the woman now wearing it.
‘Do you think Riccardo will like it?’ Margherita asked Sarah in the reflection of the mirror.
Sarah, with her hands folded over her heart, replied, ‘He will love it.’ Sarah waited a moment as Giovanna excused herself to collect something from the back room, before whispering, ‘Are you ready for your wedding night?’
Margherita narrowed her eyes. ‘I am no virgin, Sarah.’
‘I was actually thinking more along the lines of lingerie.’
Margherita’s head tilted slightly to the left. ‘What did you have in mind?’
After they left Giovanna’s studio, they skipped past the chain stores and eventually landed at a small intimates boutique which specialised in luxury pieces. They were immediately pounced upon by a tall dark-haired woman who spoke Italian with a Slavic inflection. She introduced herself as Saskia and welcomed Margherita and Sarah to their new collection.
Sarah caught a glimpse of Margherita eyeing the prices, which caused her to grimace. ‘I would like to buy you your lingerie,’ Sarah whispered, as they both stopped to look at a cream bra and underwear set.
‘No, Sarah. It’s ok. I—’
But Sarah drew Margherita towards her. ‘Let me do this for you. Please. It’s the least I can do to say thank you for being so supportive these past months.’
Margherita smiled and conceded. ‘Grazie, cara.’ She gave Sarah a big cuddle, and whispered, ‘But I’m not a very sexy person. You need to help me.’
‘What? And you think I’m sexy?’
Margherita shrugged. ‘You are very confident in your skin, Sarah. You are a beautiful woman. You have breasts, and muscles and a nice bottom. I have nothing. Straight up and down.’ She selected the bra and underwear in her size, then said, ‘I see how Matthew looks at you. He can’t keep his eyes off you.’ She turned to inspect a baby pink corset on a display behind them.
Sarah’s cheeks flushed and she dropped her head to hide her wide smile. What was it about Matthew that Margherita had noticed, and Sarah hadn’t? She knew she should probably let the comments go, but she was far too curious, so asked, ‘What does he do exactly?’ She delivered her question with a cheeky tone, as if she might use the information against him at a later date.
Now at the other side of the small boutique, Margherita explained, ‘His eyes are just . . .In italiano si dice, “fare gli occhi dolci”. It means, like, “to give sweet eyes”.’
