Chapter 6

Christian sounded like my words had finally hit a nerve.

"Claire, do you even know what you're saying?"

"I know."

I shut my MacBook.

"I'm notifying you. I'm not asking you."

Before the line went dead, I heard Bianca's voice on the other end, soft and tentative. "Chris, was that Claire? Is she mad?"

Christian didn't answer.

I turned my phone over and said to Tara, "Get the car. We're going to the photo studio."

Tara's eyes went wide. "Now?"

"Now."

I stood up.

"My dress isn't something anyone can wear just because they feel like it."

The studio was in Chelsea.

By the time I arrived, Bianca was already wearing Belated.

A crowd surrounded the set.

The photographer was praising her. "Bee, this look is perfect on you. Pure but broken. So much narrative depth."

Bianca stood in the light, her head tilted slightly.

My dress on her body. The waist didn't fit. The chest gaped by an inch.

A stylist was behind her, hastily clamping the back with metal clips.

The hidden embroidery along the hem had been covered up by a strip of lace appliqué her assistant had added.

I stood at the entrance and watched for a few seconds.

Tara's eyes were red with fury.

"They actually dared to alter your work."

I stepped inside.

Someone blocked my path. "Sorry, ma'am. Private shoot. No unauthorized personnel allowed."

I pulled out my work ID.

"I'm the designer of this wedding dress."

The person froze.

Bianca spotted me too.

The smile on her face immediately retracted by several degrees.

"Claire? What are you doing here?"

I didn't acknowledge her. I walked to the skirt, crouched down, and ripped off that strip of freshly sewn-on lace in one motion.

The stitching was crude, pressing down on my hidden embroidery.

I looked up at her.

"Who told you that you could alter this?"

Bianca's face paled.

Her assistant immediately spoke up. "It was just a temporary adjustment for the shoot's aesthetic. It won't damage the garment."

I stood.

"You cut my hidden clasps. Flattened my embroidery. And put sixteen metal clamps into the back."

I turned to the photographer.

"And you call that 'not damaging'?"

The photographer awkwardly lowered his camera.

Bianca's eyes were turning red again.

"Claire, I know you don't like me, but work is work. Can you not embarrass me in front of all these people?"

I let out a soft, clear laugh.

"Bianca, you're wearing a dress you took without asking, and you're saying I'm embarrassing you?"