It Started at a Wedding...

‘Fine. Obviously I don’t have the cash on me right at this very second,’ she said, ‘but I can either do a bank transfer if you give me your account details, or give you the cash in person when we’re back in England.’

‘No rush. I’ll give you my bank details, but making the transfer when you get back to England will be fine,’ he said.

‘Good. Thank you.’ She opened the box, unpacked the dress, and put it on a hanger.

The organza skirt was creased but Sean could already see how stunning the ivory dress was. It had a strapless sweetheart neckline, the bodice was made of what he suspected might be handmade lace, and it looked as if hundreds of tiny pearls had been sewn into it. It was worthy of something produced by any of the big-name designers.

And Claire had designed this for his little sister. She’d made it all by hand.

Now he understood why she’d called her business that ridiculous name, because she was delivering exactly what her client wanted—a dream of a dress.

Clearly his lack of response rattled her, because she folded her arms. ‘If you hate it, fine—but remember that this is what Ash wanted. And I’m giving you fair warning, if you tell Ash you hate it before she puts it on, so she feels like the ugliest bride in the world instead of like a princess, then you’re so getting the rusty spoon treatment.’

‘I don’t hate it, actually. I’m just a bit stunned, because I wasn’t expecting it to be that good,’ he admitted.

She dropped into a sarcastic curtsey. ‘Why, thank you, kind sir, for the backhanded compliment.’

‘I didn’t mean it quite like that,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much about dresses, but that looks as if it involved a lot of work.’

‘It did. But she’s worth every second.’

‘Yeah.’ For a moment, he almost turned to her and hugged her.

But this was Claire ‘Follow Your Heart’ Stewart, the mistress of chaos. Their worlds didn’t mix. A hug would be a bad, bad idea. ‘Thanks for letting me see the dress,’ he said. ‘I’d better let you get on.’

‘Tell Ash her dress is here safely, and I’ll come and find her the second it’s ready.’

He nodded. ‘Will do.’

* * *

Once Claire was satisfied with the dress, she took it through to Ashleigh’s room. Sammy opened the door. ‘Claire-bear! About time, too,’ she said with a grin. ‘Losing the dress. Tsk. What kind of dressmaker does that?’

‘Don’t be mean, Sammy,’ Ashleigh called. ‘I’d cuff her for you, Claire, but I have to sit still and let Aliona take these rollers out of my hair.’

Claire hung up the dress, then enveloped Sammy with a hug. ‘Hello to you, too. How was your flight?’

‘Disgusting,’ Sammy said cheerfully, ‘but when I’ve finished taking photographs tonight then I’m going to drink Prosecco until I don’t care any more.’

‘Hangover on top of jet lag. Nice,’ Claire teased. ‘It’s so good to see you, Sammy.’

‘You, too. And oh, my God. How amazing is that dress? You’ve really surpassed yourself this time, Claire.’

Claire smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’m just glad we got it back.’

The hotel’s hairdresser and make-up artist cooed over the dress, too, and then Claire submitted to being prettied up before putting on her own dress and then helping Ashleigh with hers.

Sammy posed them both for photographs on the balcony. ‘Righty. I need to do the boys, now,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘See you at the town hall.’

‘OK?’ Claire asked when Sammy had gone.

Ashleigh gulped. ‘Yes. Just thinking.’

‘I know.’ It would be similar for Claire, if she ever got married: she’d be missing her mum, though her dad would be there—if he approved of Claire’s choice of man—and her mum’s family would be there, with Ashleigh and Sammy to support her.

Not that Claire thought she’d ever get married. All the men she’d ever been involved with had turned out to be Mr Wrong. Men she’d thought would share her dreams, but who just couldn’t commit. Men who’d been so casual with her emotions that she’d lost trust in her judgement.

‘But I think they’re here in spirit,’ Claire said softly. ‘They loved you so much, Ash. And Luke can’t wait to make you his bride. You’ve got a good guy, there.’

‘I know. I’m lucky.’ Ashleigh swallowed hard.

‘Hey. If you cry and your make-up runs, Sean will have my guts for garters,’ Claire said. She went into a dramatic pose. ‘Help! Help! Save me from your scary big brother!’

To her relief, it worked, and Ashleigh laughed; she was still smiling when Sean knocked on her door to say they needed to go.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_f15c021d-f07e-53e5-9604-03a1ebb1332f)

SEAN HAD ALREADY seen the dress—albeit not at its best—but seeing his little sister wearing it just blew him away. The ivory dress emphasised Ashleigh’s perfect hour-glass shape by skimming in at the waist, then falling to the floor in soft folds. Her dark hair was drawn back from her face and pinned at the back as a base for her veil, and then flowed down in soft curls. She wore a discreet and very pretty tiara with sparkling stones and pearls to reflect the pearls in the bodice. And finally she was carrying a simple posy of dusky lavender roses, the same colour as Claire’s dress; the stems were tightly bound with ivory ribbon.

‘You look amazing, Ashleigh,’ he said. ‘Really amazing.’

Then he glanced at Claire. Again, he was shocked. He hadn’t seen the bridesmaid’s dress before, though he’d had a fair idea that it would be dusky lavender, the same colour as his waistcoat and the rose in his buttonhole. Although it, too, was strapless and had a sweetheart neckline, it was much plainer than Ashleigh’s dress and ended at the knee. Claire’s hair was dressed in a similar style to his sister’s, though without a veil and with a discreet jewelled headband rather than a tiara. Her roses were ivory rather than lavender, as a counterpoint to the bride’s bouquet, and her satin high heels were dyed to match her dress.