La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink}

  She nestled into his side. “Did you plan on buying a place that would need that many renovations?”

  He shrugged and bit his thumbnail, something he only did when nervous. “I didn’t know what we’d find. I figured wherever we opened we’d have to paint and stuff, but this is a lot more than anything the three of us can do on our own.”

  “You could hire a contractor.” He had the money.

  “I know. I just want to be smart about our spending.”

  “It’s your money, Riley.”

  Realizing he was biting his nail, he tucked it under the covers and faced her. “It’s ours. This money’s for us, Em, our future, our family.”

  They’d promised not to discuss children until she was past the three-year mark. A lot could happen to survivors during those first couple years of remission. “I think if you want this place you should buy it. This is your dream and I want to see it come true.”

  He let out a big breath. “I’m nervous. I don’t know if I can handle all this on my own. I mean, I’m excited for the opportunity, but this is big. Like, after this, I might have to buy a suit for meetings and stuff. I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

  Her fingers laced with his. “You just have to be you. You’ve always had a gift for drawing people in, Riley. You’re charismatic and have a talent for putting people at ease. You don’t need to change the way you dress to impress people. Just let them see the real you and they’ll be impressed enough.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “Will you come with me tomorrow?”

  “Of course. We’re partners.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Syrup and pancakes.”

  The following day they went to visit what might be their future headquarters. It was exciting and scary.

  Riley showed a side of himself she never saw before. Perhaps his business sense came from some funky rich people gene. Every time he asked an important question she’d never think to ask, he impressed her. Aptitude was a very sexy thing.

  When they returned home, no one seemed willing to speak first. Lexi was waiting at the loft, anxious to hear how it went. “So... How was it?”

  Rarity’s lips pursed around a poorly hidden smirk as she glanced at Emma. Unsure why no one was talking, she looked to Riley, who paced in the kitchen, head down in deep thought. Emma shrugged. “I thought it was great. The building definitely has potential.”

  Rarity exhaled. “I totally agree. I loved the exposed ceilings. There’s enough room to make a second floor, like a loft. And there’s an awesome back wing to store overhead.”

  They looked at Riley, who paused in his pacing and blinked at them. “What?”

  Emma laughed. “Did you like it?”

  He bit his thumb. Finally he said, “I think it’s perfect.” They all cheered, fumbling together in an inelegant hug tackle.

  “Does that mean we’re buying it?” Rarity asked.

  “All that’s missing is the name. I’m going to email the realtor in a few minutes.”

  The loft overflowed with exciting energy and they celebrated. Lexi and Rarity prepared a delicious meal and they toasted to their future venture while brainstorming on the perfect name for their operation. Though they were all a bit nervous, it was a magnificent feeling to have a sense of purpose. It was the first time in a long time that Emma allowed herself to look beyond a few months into the future.

  Over the passing weeks, Rarity stayed busy gathering information about food and safety laws while looking into various education programs for herself. Emma’s department was the branding and marketing. It was all overwhelming and surreal, but incredibly rewarding each time a decision was made.

  One of the hardest decisions was coming up with the perfect name. It had been an ongoing debate, trying to find the perfect title that would encompass all they planned to do.

  “Pure Foods,” Riley suggested.

  “Too generic and people might not get that we have more than food,” Rarity argued, vetoing another choice.

  “Earth to table?” Emma proposed.

  “That’s nice, but not perfect.”

  They continued brainstorming. “Customers should know it’s more than food and all natural,” Rarity reminded. “We really need to get the point across that everything we sell is for the body and not bad for it. Back to basics, you know? I feel like we’re complicating it and we just need something simple so they know it’s pure.”

  “Naked Goods,” Emma said. “Au naturel. No additives.”

  They turned to her and both smiled, resembling each other in one of those strange moments she was reminded they were siblings. “That’s great, toots. What do you think, Ri?”

  “Who doesn’t love naked?”

  Rarity jotted down the name. “Naked Goods. Well, I never thought we’d use sex appeal to sell our products, but it works.”

  “Make it good with Naked Goods,” Riley said, pitching his voice like a little jingle. “Labeled to be understood.”

  And so it was decided. Their company would be called Naked Goods. The most bizarre moment came on July thirteenth, when they signed the deed for the future Naked Goods.

  The place desperately needed work. Everything needed to be removed, replaced, and reborn if they ever wanted customers to venture through their doors—especially if they were in the industry of selling products related to clean living. Riley hired a construction crew and Emma collaborated with an architect that specialized in up-cycling unwanted natural materials. Rarity busied herself with multiple lists of potential suppliers.

  It was imperative that their products be completely trustworthy and non-toxic, so there were a lot of back and forth calls and queries. If a company didn’t certify their products organic or GMO free—be it food, cotton, or cosmetic—Naked Goods wasn’t interested.

  Things were happening so fast. Her parents often came to sit with Marla so the three of them could road trip out to see nearby farms and get a better understanding for the organic process.

  As contracts were signed her nerves jingled with implied responsibility. There was so much to consider, but with every decision came great satisfaction. They were doing something no one else in their local area was doing.

  There, of course, were organic aisles and overlooked sections hidden away in most supermarkets. And deep in the hipster sections of the city existed holistic healers and stores specializing in oils and supplements that were otherwise hard to come by. But no one had done what they were doing to the degree they were doing it, all in one place.

  They met other people like them and earned incredible support. While corporate companies and pharmaceuticals competed with each other, the people in their circle were more than happy to share ideas and knowledge.

  Riley believed if enough people came together there might someday be more stores like theirs. They didn’t care about the competition. It was about the movement, the return to resources they could trust. Emma agreed with him. Exposure and a little knowledge was a very powerful thing.

  Naked Goods was green from the solar panels that lit their displays down to the flooring they chose. They carried unprocessed grains, unrefined oils, organic produce, supplements, household supplies, clean cosmetics and personal hygiene products all made from safe and healthy ingredients. The second floor offered an eat-in, green café and sprout bar that doubled as a classroom for Rarity to host events. Emma planned on reasserting her deodorant making skills once the roster of classes was posted.

  The backroom was an apothecary of sorts, where customers could order supplies, scenting with preferred essential oils. It wasn’t just a natural store. It was an experience, an education, and was rapidly developing into a thriving community, before their doors even opened.

  A portion of every dollar earned would go toward research. Their website offered an exact audit of every penny distributed as well as a detailed rationale of their standards. There was a logical plan for every aspect. And once they had their grand opening, the gears would be put into motion. r />
  “Emma.”

  She turned from her laptop as Rarity called her name from the bedroom door. “What’s up?”

  Her friend sauntered into her room holding her purse. “You will see here, I have your purse and shoes. Please put them on.”

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  “I feel slightly remiss that—as your maid of honor—I’ve overlooked a minor detail. I’d be more distraught if you—the bride—hadn’t overlooked it as well.”

  “What?” She frowned, going over her mental checklist for the wedding. Everything was arranged.

  Rarity scoffed. “You’re getting married in less than a month and you don’t have a gown.”

  Emma chuckled, trying to ignore the pinch in her chest. It wasn’t that she forgot. She thought about her wedding gown every day, thought about how much her first wedding gown had meant and how beautiful she looked in it, how much she loved that stupid dress—so much so she forgot she was supposed to be in love with the groom.

  This time it was more about the guy. She shrugged. “It’s just not that big of a deal to me now. I’ll find something.”

  “Um...” Rarity sat on the edge of her desk. “I might be wrong here, but don’t fancy dresses take, like, months to order and then you have to have them trimmed and fitted and stuff. Your wedding’s in three and a half weeks, toots.”

  “I know.” The anxiety over wearing a pretty dress with no boobs to fill it made her feel superficial and small, but she didn’t want to explain herself to some snooty seamstress on Park Ave.

  “Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m going to need old Emma to come back for a few hours.” She shut her laptop. “We’re going to a little shop in Brooklyn. Put these shoes on. I have Riley’s credit card. He’s treating.”

  Knowing Rarity loathed dress shopping, Emma couldn’t help but be impressed by her dedication to her duty as maid of honor. “We could just look online and take it to the seamstress around the corner when it comes in.” That would be less painful.

  “Not a chance. I know you, Emma. This is something you’ll look back on with gratitude. You don’t find perfect online. Put on the shoes. We’re not coming home until we’ve located the perfect gown.”

  The salon in Brooklyn was small and nothing like the fancy boutique her first gown had come from. The mannequins wore dated wigs and the carpet was a hideous shade of burgundy.

  “Who told you about this place?” she mumbled as they scanned the showroom for human life.

  “I have people,” Rarity said, stepping to the counter and ringing the antique bell.

  An older woman came from a door buried between racks of consignment prom dresses. “May I help you?”

  “We need a gown,” Rarity announced.

  The woman smiled. “Are you the bride?”

  “Not in this life.” She nudged Emma forward. “Emma’s the bride. I’m the maid of honor.”

  “Lovely to meet you. I’m Betty.” She seemed to be the only person in the store and quite possibly the owner. Her fine silken hair was silver as a fox and her skin was translucent with age. “Congratulations on your engagement. When’s the wedding?”

  She fidgeted with her T-shirt. “September sixteenth.”

  “Of this year?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” The woman fiddled with her earring as she took a quick scan of her inventory. “Well then, we have some work to do, don’t we? Come with me.”

  Liking her optimism, they followed her deeper into the salon as she explained which style gowns were hung where. “You two take a gander and I’ll be back in a moment.”

  When they were alone she glanced at Rarity and snorted. “Seriously, where did you find this place?”

  “I buy herbs from the Chinese place around the corner.” She snickered. “I like her. She reminds me of the original Betty Boop.”

  They sorted through various gowns, none really sparking any deep affection. Betty returned with a tray of grapes and three glasses of wine. “I hope chardonnay’s okay with you ladies. I’m all out of champagne.”

  “Fan-shee,” Rarity complimented in her Sean Connery accent as she took a sip. Betty was definitely creating a memorable experience.

  “So,” the woman lightly clapped her hands together. “Did you find anything you like?”

  “Not yet.”

  She twisted her lips and perused the selection. “Well, you’re going to need off the rack so we should start with your measurements and narrow the choices by size.”

  She retrieved a thin measuring tape and Emma asked, “Do you have a seamstress here?”

  “That’s me. I do it all, honey.”

  For some reason this eased Emma’s stress.

  “Let’s get you into a slip and then we’ll take your measurements. Sometimes the best way to find the gown is to try a bunch on first.” She winked and whispered, “I say that about finding the right husband too. Go ahead and get down to your undergarments.”

  Breath jaggedly left her lungs as she nodded. Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, she walked behind the screen openly draped with a curtain. There wasn’t much of a changing room. “Is anyone going to come in?”

  “You two are my first customers this month, so I doubt it. There’s a bell on the door, so we’ll hear if anyone stops by.”

  Rarity sent her a reassuring grin. “It’s just us girls, toots. No need to be self-conscious.”

  She nodded.

  Betty selected various gowns and hung them on a nearby rack. Emma stepped out of her flip-flops and slid down her shorts. Taking a deep breath, she sluggishly lifted off her shirt.

  Carrying back an armful of gowns, Betty said, “Now, some girls like a fuller gown, but September can still be warm—”

  She paused, facing Emma’s bare chest and tilted her head, a look of understanding and compassion quickly crossing her crystal blue eyes. Emma’s chest tightened, but Betty barely flinched.

  “You look to be about a size eight. We have lots of dresses that size. I think we can find something just perfect. Why don’t you start with this one?”

  Exhaling with relief, she took the heavy satin gown and Rarity helped her slide it over her shoulders. “You’re doing great,” she whispered.

  The gown hit the floor and zipped up the back. She turned and faced the triad of mirrors. Not a chance. The heavy beading at the chest left the loose material wilted and sad.

  “Next!” Rarity called, pulling the zipper down without a second glance.

  Betty continued to dive deep into the racks and dig up various gowns of all different cuts and styles. By the tenth gown, Emma was exhausted, frustrated, and in need of another glass of wine. Luckily, Betty was on top of her game and had plenty of Chardonnay.

  “I have an idea,” the woman said, as they took a breather, sitting in a pile of white satin and lace, sipping wine. She tapped a painted nail to her chin. “Where did that dress go?”

  “What dress?” Rarity asked.

  “It’s an older style, from the sixties. A darling little gown. Oh, I could just picture you in it! Let me go look upstairs.”

  Betty left and Rarity said, “We might have to go somewhere else.”

  “Not today. I’m too tired.” Plus, she really wanted to give Betty her business. The woman was determined to find something that fit and it didn’t seem like her efforts were for the sake of a sale.

  Rarity patted her knee. “We’ll find it. Don’t worry.”

  Betty returned with a white garment bag in her arms. “Do you believe I found it? I always loved this dress.” She hung the bag on a hook and slowly lowered the zipper.

  “It’s short,” Rarity observed.

  “That was the style at the time. Women would wear dainty wrist gloves and short lace veils. Back then weddings were more about marrying the man of your dreams, less about the party and pomp.”

  Emma stood and touched the delicate fabric. Thin layers of chiffon flowed into a tea length skirt. The top was done in el
egant plain lace, covering the shoulders as the actual bodice was cut simplistically straight across the chest. “Can I try it on?”

  “I insist on it.” Betty laughed, removing it from the hanger.

  She fed the gown over her arms and fluffed the skirts. Emma stood and Rarity handed her a headband. “Try this on.”

  “And these.” Betty slid two satin shoes under her feet.

  She fit the plain silver band to her curls as Rarity clasped the pearl button at the base of her neck. Taking a deep breath, she turned.

  I found it.

  Her chest filled as she stared at the charmingly understated beauty in the mirror. Was that her?

  “Oh...” Rarity and Betty sighed at once.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off her reflection. Her expanders gave her minimal shape, not enough to be mistaken for ordinary breasts, but in this dress, she was perfect. The lines and cut showcased her feminine figure, accentuating her hips and curves while disguising her lack of cleavage. She loved everything about it down to the ladylike way it highlighted her legs.

  No other gown, not even the one in her closet at home, had ever made her feel so pretty. “I’ll take it.”

  Betty smiled and folded her hands together. “Wonderful!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Riley took another slow breath, waiting for his heart to stop racing. Fidgeting with his tie, he tugged at his collar and blotted away the sweat gathering at the back of his neck. This was why he preferred T-shirts.

  “Riley, we need you over here.”

  Pulling at his gray lapels, he adjusted his purple tie and walked toward Joey at the foot of the Gapstow Bridge. The sky faded to pink as the backdrop of buildings gradually lit, creating a horizon of twinkling lights.

  He shifted as his damn pants bunched awkwardly at the cuff. “Do I have a loose hem or something?” he asked, rotating his ankle.

  “No worries, I have a needle and thread,” Joey announced, dropping to his knee to examine the cuff.

  Riley looked down. “Well, this is awkward.”

  “Not from my view.” Joey winked and tapped his shoe. “Cuffs fine.” He stood. “Okay, the musicians are going to start when your guests are seated. Once Emma’s ready on the other side, they’ll shift into Stand by Me. The vocalist will be under that tree. You start to walk at the first line when you hear the word night. Take your time getting there, because Emma wants the entire song.”