“You said you needed a dress and swimsuit,” he reminded her. “You’ll definitely need some new things for the trip.”
Emma sighed in exasperation as they entered the crosswalk.
“What?” he asked.
“I haven’t even spoken to Mrs. Ring yet about taking time off. Just because you act like something is going to happen doesn’t mean it will,” she said chuckling, both irritated and amazed by his absolute confidence.
“You’ll speak to Mrs. Ring tomorrow, and we’ll fly out on Tuesday,” he told her patiently. “You’ll see. It’ll be fine. And once we’re in France,” he nodded toward the department st
ore, “you’re definitely going to want a new dress or two. Or three. This is more than just a race, it’s a social event that lasts almost a week.”
Emma glanced at the famous glass entrance to the department store. “But I can’t afford to buy things here, Vanni.”
“That’s all right,” Vanni said, reaching for the door and opening it for her. He met her stare steadily. “You’re with me.”
She shook her head, refusing to enter. He frowned.
“It’s a very simple thing, Emma. Do you want to come with me to the race?”
“Yes . . . if I can get it off, that is,” she said fervently, dreading the idea of missing another week of their time together.
“If you think you’ll feel comfortable attending some of these events with me without any new dresses, then I’m fine with it. I was thinking of you in offering this.”
“Vanni,” she muttered under her breath, moved by his thoughtfulness and generosity, but torn. She glanced again anxiously at the name of the department store over the gilded entryway. If Mrs. Ring did grant her the time off and she indeed ended up going with him to France, he was correct. She’d look horribly out of place standing next to him in the extravagant European playground of the French Riviera. She didn’t want to embarrass him.
And they only had so much time together, after all . . .
He put out his hand.
“Come on. Just a couple of dresses, and then we’ll have some time to ourselves.”
“Okay,” she conceded, taking his hand.
* * *
The dressing room in the store was the size of her bedroom, featuring a lounging area with a sofa, coffee table, two armchairs, and an enormous, movable triple mirror. The friendly, chic middle-aged saleswoman, whose name was Sophia, escorted her into the changing lounge while asking her questions about fabric preferences and sizes. When Sophia asked her the names of her favorite designers, Emma gave her a wry grin.
“I doubt you’d find any labels from my closet here.”
Sophia’s smooth expression didn’t falter. “Not a problem. We’ll just introduce you to some new ones then.”
A younger associate peeked her head into the door and asked Emma what she’d like to drink.
“Nothing, thank you,” she told the young blond woman, a little flustered at the unexpected question.
“Bring her a tea service, please, and me as well,” Vanni instructed. Emma turned in surprise. He’d followed them into the women’s dressing lounge. Was there any place he wouldn’t tread with complete confidence?
“I’ll wait for you out there,” he told Emma, pointing to the lavish sitting area that was part of the lounge. They’d passed it on the way in, so she knew to what he referred. He directed his attention to Sophia. “Please bring her out so that I can see the ones that are worthwhile.”
“Of course, Mr. Montand. I’ll be right back with some selections for you to start on,” Sophia told Emma. “Just have a seat and relax.”
The young blond salesgirl returned first, carrying not a cup of tea, but an entire service including a pot of tea, a tiered tray of small sandwiches, fruit, scones, jam and cream, and a glass of champagne. Despite Emma’s awkwardness in the surroundings, she realized she was hungry and sampled one of the sandwiches and then a strawberry. A few minutes later, she sat on the couch with the teacup in her hand and a scone melting on her tongue, watching wide-eyed as Sophia breezed in with an armful of dresses.
“What about this one first?” she asked Emma, holding up a stunning mauve strapless gown. Sophia waved the dress over a sort of pedestal. Much to Emma’s amazement, a video popped up on the mirror of a gorgeous, slinky model strutting down the runway wearing the precise dress Emma was about to try on. She gasped.
“Is there a chip in the dress?” she asked Sophia, standing.
Sophia grinned. “Yes, a tiny one on a tag. Our customers like to see the outfits we sell professionally modeled.”