“I’m so sorry. I need to borrow Adam for one second. Do you mind?”
I shake my head. “I don’t mind at all. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. What’s up?” Adam asks.
Mrs. Dirk palms his arm. “Justin has requested a favor. He wants his right-hand man to capture their first dance.”
Adam raises his eyebrows at me and grins. “I’ve been promoted to right-hand man, huh?”
I nod excitedly, knowing this is progress.
“What about the other photographer, Mrs. Dirk? I don’t want to step on any toes,” Adam says.
“I can assure you, you won’t be stepping on any toes. As far as I’m concerned, you can both take photos of the first dance. All I know is that Justin said your photos will be better, and he wants you ready to do it.” She turns and points to a young woman holding a clipboard near the door. “Miss Penny will talk you through the timeline and where she wants you to shoot from. It will only take a minute.”
Adam hands off his champagne to me and palms his camera. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Mrs. Dirk and I watch Adam walk over to Miss Penny. They disappear into the adjacent ballroom.
Mrs. Dirk turns to me. “Thank goodness for Adam’s extraordinary talent. I have a feeling I’m going to want a copy of every single photo he takes tonight.” We both titter. She’s not wrong.
“And you, my dear, look amazing.” She takes a step back and eyes my gown. “Who designed your dress? Valentino? Gucci? Although this does look like vintage Oscar de la Renta to me. I can tell by the intricate embroidery. It’s perfect for you.”
I’m floored. Mrs. Dirk thinks my gown is from a famous designer. I stutter as I try to respond gently. “Thank you so much.”
“Oscar is well known for his glamorous expressions of femininity. My friends and I were all commenting on how gorgeous you look tonight.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s not an Oscar de la Renta gown.”
She seems shocked, her eyes mapping my cerulean dress from top to bottom. “It’s not?”
I hold back a nervous laugh. “Nope. It’s a Clayton original.”
Her brow furrows. “Clayton? Is he an up-and-coming designer?”
Unable to hold back, I let out a goose-honk laugh and startle Mrs. Dirk. “I apologize,” I say, biting my lip to stifle another sound. “Clayton is a she. Mrs. Bonnie Clayton, my grandmother.”
“Oh!” She clutches the pearls hanging from around her neck, shock registering on her face. “Well… I must say, your Grandmother Clayton is very talented.”
“Thank you.” I tip the champagne flute to my lips and take a swig. “I’ll let her know.”
Mrs. Dirk offers me an overzealous smile, clearly uncomfortable pegging my grandmother’s creation as an original Oscar de la Renta gown. “I’ll… see you at the reception, dear.”
“Okay,” I squeak. I watch her wave to friends across the room and walk toward them, clearly eager to leave.
Why does this wealthy woman make my pulse race and my palms sweat? And why in the world did I just say I’d let my grandmother know that Mrs. Dirk thinks she’s very talented? My Grandma Clayton has been dead for years. Nerves take hold as I tip back the champagne and drain the glass, trying to steady my racing thoughts.
Adam stays gone longer than a few minutes. I busy myself sipping from his champagne and trying hors d’oeuvres from waiters in white jackets. I especially like the bacon-wrapped dates and mini lobster rolls. I chat with some guests from the night before. Just as I head to the bar for a third glass, Adam reappears.
“Where have you been?” I ask in a rush of breath.
He seems energized and holds up two fingers to the bartender. With our fresh drinks in his hands he says, “Come over here. I’ll give you the condensed version before the reception starts.”
We huddle in a corner where he hands me my champagne. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he says.
My frown is instant. “You met Miss Penny, and she gave you the rundown on Roxy and Justin’s entrance into their first dance as husband and wife, right?”
“Yes. Yes, of course. That was easy and took two seconds.”
