I guessed this was Marissa Frank, and rightly so, since she headed right over and clasped her hands together, staring at my clothes up and down.
“This is Elaine,” Francesca told her, and the woman’s jaw practically dropped open.
“Elaine Constantine?!”
It felt like I hadn’t been recognized in years by that point, and I’m sure I was blushing.
“Hi, yes, I’m Elaine Constantine.”
Francesca picked up the conversation for me.
“Elaine is relocating here to the UK,” she told the stylist. “Only it’s confidential at the moment, non-disclosure at any cost.”
The woman nodded her approval. “Of course, yes, absolutely.”
She shook off her surprise and gave me a smile of a whole different nature. Excitement and respect to a whole different tune. That’s what the Constantine name does for you, though.
“I’d better start bringing the collection in,” she said and she was off with the help of the housekeeper and butler, bringing cases and clothes racks in from outside.
There were a lot of them. It was like being in a designer store by the time the whole selection of clothes was unloaded. She’d also arrived with a selection of full-length mirrors, all ready for spin and twirl.
“So, tell me what kind of styles you like,” Marissa Frank said, and I took a breath, then began my answer.
I told her exactly what kind of styles I liked, everything from designer casual to designer evening wear. She measured me up to confirm all my sizes, and her markers. I was a size eight. She had a whole ocean of size eight clothes ready for my perusal, and Francesca was joining in with the exclamations as I started working my way through the racks, pulling out anything that grabbed my interest.
My God, plenty of things grabbed my interest.
Beautiful designer blouses and pencil skirts, right through to floaty mid-length dresses, fitted pants and tight little cami tops that put Jemma’s entire wardrobe to shame.
Marissa Frank had everything I could possibly want. Bras and panties and tights and stockings. Bustiers and corsets and tights. Jeans. Jackets. EVERYTHING.
I was in my element as I pulled clothes out from the racks to try on. It only took one scoot of me heading into the room next door and shifting from Jemma’s clothes into a new bra and panties before I felt utterly like Elaine again. It was like a light switch had been flicked on in my head.
Francesca was as expressive as Marissa was, both of them clapping and whooping whenever I stepped out in a new outfit. They loved them all. So did I. I had a new level of appreciation for every single thing I tried on after having gone without any clothes at all bar Lucian’s shirt for days on end.
We took a break for lunch, presented with some quaint little British cheese and cucumber sandwiches that I enjoyed as we chattered some girly chatter between the three of us.
It was after lunch that Marissa presented me with a rack full of occasion wear and my heart truly started to thump. Silks and satins and sparkles. Diamante and mermaid tails and backless gowns. Every one of the dresses was enough to take my breath.
So were the price tags, but once more I was back to Constantine status, on the arm of a Morelli. Once more price had no relevance in my world.
It was a deep dark blue ballgown that transfixed me more than anything else. Taffeta interlaced with silks, absolutely divine. But there were others, SO many others. A silver satin slip which glided just perfectly over my curves. A little black dress that hugged me like a glove. A pale pastel pink gown with a tail and diamante all around the neckline.
I knew I’d be taking them all.
Francesca covered her mouth with her hands as I stepped into the room once Marissa had fastened me into the little black number. She was nodding like crazy as she moved one hand to her chest.
“Jesus, Elaine, that is truly sensational! SENSATIONAL!”
It felt it.
I felt sensational.
But not nearly as sensational as I felt once Francesca’s beautician turned up later that afternoon armed with a mobile salon chair and every tool she could ever need.
She styled my hair, lashes, and eyebrows. She gave me a facial, and did my nails, and waxed all the bits of me that needed waxing. Then she addressed my makeup situation—making me up like the Elaine Constantine everyone expected me to be, then leaving a full makeup case of supplies for me in her absence.
Once again Francesca covered her mouth with her hands as I stepped back in to the sitting room.
“You really do look like Elaine Constantine again now,” she said. “You look absolutely fucking perfect.”
I only hoped Lucian agreed with her when he arrived back that evening. Only it seemed that evening wouldn’t be all that long coming. Francesca checked the time on her cell phone before shooting a glance out onto the driveway through the main windows.