Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour
CHAPTER 55
Roman
Irun my fingers across the bolt of sumptuous white silk fabric, then unroll a yard and scrunch it in my hand. Mmm. The texture’s so rich and sensuous. The color so pure. Bruno’s sustainable factory in Lake Como came through for me. It’s positively divine. If sex were a fabric, this would be it.
“You like it?” asks Abra, standing beside me.
“No, I don’t like it. Je l’adore.” In other words, I fucking love it! It’s going to work perfectly for what I have in mind. I unroll more of the fabric and bunch it up, molding it into the shape of a poufy skirt. With its layers of tulle, the gown is going to be extraordinary. Have a life of its own and take flight down the runway.
Madame DuBois smiles, her crinkly eyes glistening. “Oui, c’est sublime!”
We sidestep over to another equally big bolt of fabric. Handmade Chantilly lace from another sustainable factory in France. I examine it. The delicate floral-patterned lace will be perfect for the bodice. A home for the butterflies.
“Maybe we’ll add some feathers and crystals along the neckline.” My confidante nods in agreement. “Give it some sparkle and whimsy.”
“Oui,” she says. “I have already ordered the crystals from Swarovski. They should be here tomorrow along with the marabou feathers that are coming from Belgium. If they don’t work for the dress, we can surely use them for the headpiece.”
“Excellent.” One more bolt of fabric to examine. The white tulle, also from Bruno’s factory. I was only going to use it as an overlay and to make a crinoline, but as I unroll it, an idea pings in my head. I keep unrolling and unrolling it, my fingers clasping the corners, and walk backwards until the fabric sweeps across the atelier like a thirty-foot sail. The dazzling image almost obliterates my limited vision.
“We’re going to create a cathedral veil. With silk butterflies.”
Madame DuBois dips her hand into a pocket of her smock. “Like this one?”
In her palm, she holds out a white, hand-cut silk butterfly with a tiny inlaid seed pearl. It’s slightly bigger than those white creatures you see flying all around Central Park in the summer. But as splendid and delicate. In my mind’s eye, I can actually see it fluttering in the air. Flapping its silk wings. Dancing on sunshine.
“Yes! Exactly!” Mentally, I marvel at how in sync we are. “We’ll need hundreds of them. Maybe more. Butterflies everywhere!”
She smiles again. “I will put the Romanoffs right on it while I make the pattern for the gown you sketched.”
I take the butterfly from her and slip it into my pocket. This is going to be my lucky butterfly. The Butterfly Bridal Gown will be incredible. A work of art. A museum-worthy masterpiece. It will send the fashion world into a tizzy.
And so will the bride who’s going to wear it at the end of my show. I want to keep it a secret from her. But I’m not sure how we’ll do that. The couture gown will take weeks to make. Almost right up to the show itself.
Suddenly, a blast sounds in my ears, cutting my ruminations short.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Abra, my heart galloping.
“Oui!I think it came from the basement.”
“Stay here!” Bypassing the unreliable elevator, I hurry to the back of the atelier and race down the stairs as another blast bellows.