Chapter 1
Clara first encountered Julian Kane on a Thursday afternoon in late spring, three weeks before they announced the engagement.
While adjusting a hem, the front bell and a man’s voice broke pins in her mouth.
“I’m looking for whoever’s in charge of the custom work.”
Clara stood, brushing threads from her black trousers, and walked out into the showroom. The tall, dark-haired man near the veil display wore charcoal trousers, rolled-up sleeves, and a famously expensive watch. His expression stayed faintly amused, even when he said nothing, as if he rarely encountered anything that surprised him.
He looked at her, then past her, then back again, clearly expecting someone older or more polished.
“That would be me,” Clara said. “Clara Goodwin. I handle custom bridal.”
She had been running the custom side of the shop for four years, long enough to know that expensive clients weren’t necessarily difficult ones. The difficult ones were usually the people who thought money could replace patience.
One eyebrow lifted. “You’re the seamstress?”
“I am.”
“You look too young to be trusted with fifty thousand dollars of silk.”
“And you look like someone who usually sends an assistant to handle things like this,” she answered, matching his tone. “Yet here you are.”
For a second, he looked as though he’d forgotten what he was going to say. Then his mouth twitched.
“Julian Kane. My girlfriend is about to become my fiancée, and she’s already decided she wants a gown that doesn’t exist yet. I’ve been told you’re the only person in the city who can build what she’s describing without crying.”
Clara wiped her hands on a clean cloth. “I don’t cry over fabric. I do charge for impossible requests.”
“Good. She specializes in those.”
He followed her into the consultation room as though he already belonged there. While she pulled out sketch pads and fabric swatches, Julian barely looked at them.
He asked the right questions, but his attention kept drifting back to her. When Clara explained why the original neckline would pull against Amanda’s shoulders, Julian actually listened. Most clients stopped paying attention once she started talking construction. He didn’t.
Once, she caught him watching while she threaded a needle. He looked away only after she raised an eyebrow.
Amanda arrived twenty minutes later, carrying a designer handbag in one hand and her phone in the other.
The second she walked in, the easy rhythm of the appointment disappeared. She barely looked at Clara. She listed her demands quickly. She moved from one request to the next. Clara couldn’t finish answering before the next one started. She dismissed two neckline options. Clara hadn’t finished pinning them.
“That neckline is beautiful,” Amanda said, almost apologetically. “It’s just not me.”
She paused, then looked at Clara properly for the first time.
“Sorry. I know you’re trying to make this work.”
Clara gave her a small nod. “That’s what I’m here for.”
Amanda glanced back at the sketches. “Then I need something less traditional. Nothing too sweet. I don’t want to look like every other bride.”
Clara hadn’t even finished pinning the second neckline before Amanda dismissed it too.
Julian stayed near the window, arms crossed, following the exchange with an expression Clara couldn’t quite read. When Amanda declared the current sample “provincial,” Clara saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
Amanda declared the current sample “provincial.” Clara saw the corner of Julian’s mouth twitch.
Amanda’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen, excused herself, and stepped outside to take the call.
Clara waited until the door closed before exhaling.
She had worked with brides who cried over crooked seams, brides who changed their minds twelve times, brides who arrived with entire Pinterest boards printed in color.
Amanda was different. She knew exactly what she wanted. She just didn’t seem to know why.
For the first time since Amanda had arrived, Clara could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner.
Julian spoke first. “She’s a lot.”
Clara kept her eyes on the fabric. “She’s the bride. Brides allowed to be a lot.”
“That was very diplomatic.”
“I’m very good at my job.”
He stepped closer to the table. His cologne reached her a second later, subtle enough that she almost wished she hadn’t noticed it. He picked up her pencil and rolled it between his fingers while he studied her.
“You’re also very patient,” he said. “Most people would’ve told her to fuck off by now.”
Clara finally looked up. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“No.” He didn’t look away. “I want you to make the dress. And I want you to keep looking at me like that while you do it.”
Clara felt suddenly too aware of the small space between them. She should have ended the conversation there. He was about to propose to another woman, for God’s sake. Instead, she stayed where she was and let him have the silence he had created.
“I’m here for the dress,” she said carefully. “Nothing else.”
The corner of Julian’s mouth lifted
“Of course you are.” He picked up his jacket and headed for the door. “I’ll be at the next fitting. Try not to look too disappointed when I bring my future fiancée to the next appointment.”
Clara watched him leave.
She told herself she was irritated by his arrogance, his confidence, and the fact that he’d noticed her noticing him.
She was lying.
***
That night, alone in her apartment, she poured a glass of wine and tried to forget the way Julian had looked at her. It didn’t work.
Three days later, the engagement was announced in the society pages.
Two weeks later, Amanda committed to the full custom process. After that, Julian somehow managed to be present at every fitting.
Clara never asked him to stop.
And Julian never pretended he was only there for the dress.
