“It’s beautiful.” She set down the robes and examined it. “It’s a vintage stole.” She flipped a box flap over and looked at the label. “Looks like these were left for consignment.” She returned the stole to the box. “Oh…what is this?” Surprise lilted her voice. She worked her hands past the stole and several other garments, then drew a long, white dress from the box. Held it up. “Oh my. It’s a vintage gown.”
The silky fabric was covered with lace and sparkly things. Even in the dim basement, it glowed, luminous and elegant.
Just like his bride.
“Wow,” he said, maybe a little more at the Christmas-morning look on Vivien’s face than the actual dress—even if it was a rather nice one.
Vivien’s fingers glanced across the dress. “Wow is right. This is exquisite.”
An idea took form in his mind. It looked like it could fit her. And it would, if he had anything to say about it. The radiant smile on Vivien’s face was the only incentive he needed.
She held the dress up against herself. “Imagine the story this dress could tell.” She lifted the hem. “See this?” She pointed to a seam on the inside of the dress. “These are French seams. They were used from the 1900s to the 1940s. They’re only used today in very high-end clothing.”
“Why does it not surprise me that you know that?”
She winked at him, the gesture leaving him a little weak in the knees. Man, he couldn’t wait to be her husband.
“I don’t think this dress is that old—the style is newer—but it’s very well made. Truly a couture gown. See how this lace overlay sits, with the handsewn beading and crystals throughout?” She laid the dress out across the box. “It’s a sheath with a bit of a mermaid train.”
Boone looked around the basement, his eyes landing on an empty suit bag. He held out his hands for the dress. “I’ll take that. We shouldn’t leave it down here.” He didn’t really know what couture or overlay or mermaid meant exactly, but Kate would.
“It’s a shame it was left in this basement. It’s musty.” Vivien released the dress to him and turned her attention back to the stole. Held it out to inspect it before wrapping it over her shoulders. She looked up, her eyes alight. “Do you think I could borrow this? For the wedding?”
“I’m sure it would be fine. Looks like it’s been here for quite some time. I’ll ask Peter.”
“It can be my ‘something old,’” she said. “Then I can cross that off my list.” She shot him a teasing grin and picked up the hat. Plopped it on his head. “You could wear this.”
The last thing Boone wanted to wear was a Russian shapka at his wedding. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Too soon?” A broad smile spread across her face, and he felt her fingertips trace his scar—the result of his last run-in with a Russian when he saved Vivien from a maniacal ex-boyfriend.
“Careful. I’ll show up wearing this sweater at our wedding.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t.”
An icy breeze chased the snowflakes through the open window. “Shall we get out of here?” He tugged the hat from his head and placed it back in the pile.
“Oh, right.” She shoved the fur stole and robes into his hands. “I’ll climb through and run around to open the door.” She turned toward the window. Paused. Turned back. “And I think we’d better go buy me a new phone after we drop those costumes off.”
“Good idea.” He gave her another boost up to the window and watched her wiggle through the narrow opening, her booted feet flailing, laughter filling his chest. Yeah, he was looking forward to a lifetime of adventures with Vivien.
THURSDAY, 5:00 P.M.
Boone led Vivien through the kaleidoscope of twinkle lights he and the guys had hung at Wilder House. The text he’d received from Kate putting an even bigger smile on his face.
Because Vivien was about to get her own wholly unexpected Christmas miracle.
He squeezed her soft fingers threaded through his own. “What is that song you’ve been humming?”
“It’s a hymn. ‘How Can I Keep from Singing.’ Pieces of the lyrics have been stuck in my head for the past two days.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a prompting. A reminder—my peace doesn’t come from what I do. What I think I control.”
“Sounds like a good reminder for both of us.”
“Yeah? Me too.” She smiled up at him.
Love poured through him, white-hot and molten.
This—this was the woman he needed in his life.
He tucked her against himself, reveling in the warmth and softness of her curves. “Peter said he got the window boarded up, and yes to using the stole. Edith Draper said there’s quite a story behind it, and the next time you see her, I expect you might hear its tale.”
Her breath caressed his cheek. “Sounds intriguing.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Indeed,” she answered.
“Speaking of which—do you really want to go through with this wild and crazy Christmas wedding?” he asked.
“What?” She leaned back, looked up at him, a question in her eyes.
He ran his fingers through her hair. “I just mean…it’s not too late to elope somewhere warm. We could head to St. Thomas early.”
“I do,” she answered, looking up at him with blue eyes, bright and clear. She curled her fingers around his. “I really do want to go through with this wild and crazy wedding.”
“I thought you might say that.” He paused, waited.
“What aren’t you telling me?” The corner of her lip curved.
“I have something for you.”
“Oh? A surprise?” A trill of excitement warbled through her words.
“Yes, ma’am. You want it now?”
“Definitely.” She rubbed her hands together.
“You have to close and cover your eyes.”
This time, her big, broad smile spread across her face and she stepped back. Excitement bubbled out in laughter. “Okay…” She placed a hand over her eyes.
“No peeking. I know you like to peek.”
“I do not,” she protested. “I have them closed.”
“I’m going to lead you into another room.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back through the doorway, down the hallway to the library. He set her into the spot facing the vintage dress, the hanger hooked on a shelf to display its full length. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” She stomped her foot. “Don’t make me wait!” Anticipation filled her voice.
“Okay. You can look.”
She dropped her hand. Gasped. “What?” She stepped closer. “How did you—” She bent forward, inspecting the lace. “This is the dress.” She examined the lace with gentle hands. “From the basement. You had it cleaned!” She held up the skirt. “It’s like something Audrey Hepburn would have worn.”
“It isn’t the dress you designed, but—”
“It’s perfect. Better than I ever could have planned.”