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“Sure, what is it?”
“I don’t know if I’m supposed to talk to your agent or something, but my friend at Vogue needs a last-minute model for a photo shoot today.”
“Vogue?” I squeal.
“I know you’ve worked with them before, and I know you are busy, but I thought I would try. I wouldn’t have asked unless it was dire,” she says.
“Today?”
“Yes,” she pleads.
“What time?” I ask.
“One-ish.”
That’s not long. “Let me see if I can move some things around. Can I call you back in five?”
“Sure,” she says before hanging up.
“Hey, babe,” Dom says, picking up his phone.
“Francesca just called me to do a last-minute photo shoot with Vogue, I must cancel lunch. I’m sorry,” I tell him.
Dom squeals down the phone. “Vogue. Yes, you can’t say no to that, babe. Go. Then tell me all about it.”
“I will,” I say before saying my goodbyes and hanging up. I call Francesca back and tell her I’m in. She texts me the address, and I jump into my car and head to the studio.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the address where I park underneath and head to reception. I tell the girl who I am, which she already knows. She gushes about how much of a fan she is, and I pose for some photos with her before she shows me to the studio where she walks me into makeup. The makeup girls quickly get to work doing their thing before the stylist comes in and introduces herself to me. She is vague about what the shoot is, but I ignore it as it’s Vogue.
Once my makeup is done, the stylist’s assistant comes in and escorts me out to the shoot. Once I turn the corner and see what the theme is, I want to die. There are rows and rows of wedding dresses all lined up for me.
It’s a wedding theme shoot.
Oh no.
“When we were told that we were able to get you last minute, we were so excited, and the fact that today is a wedding shoot and you’ve just come out as being newly married,” the stylist says excitedly to me. I give her my most professional smile. “You said that you got married in Vegas and didn’t get to wear a wedding dress, so we thought that seeing as this is being filmed and shot for the Vogue website, we would turn it into you wedding dress shopping.” My stomach sinks. This was a moment I thought I would get with my friends and my mother, not with Vogue. The reality of my Vegas wedding hits me and my eyes well up with tears. Oh no. Keep it together, Nat. You cannot ruin your makeup.
“Wow, what a great idea,” I tell them. They look relieved by my words. So, I decide to distract myself with the dresses as I try to get my emotions in check. They are all gorgeous, stunning gowns, but I’m not really taking notice of what I am looking at.
“Do you mind if we start filming?” one of the girls asks.
“Sure. What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“Maybe talk about the kind of dress you had in mind, what your dream wedding would be like. So many readers idolize your style so listening to you talk about your big day would be so inspiring to others,” she explains.
That’s a lot, so many questions that I had never thought much about.
“Ready, three, two, one.” The interviewer launches into her spiel and I pose and smile through gritted teeth as I search through the racks of couture wedding dresses. She introduces the segment and then turns to me and talks about my wedding, my fake wedding. She explains to the camera how I got married in Vegas and that I’m here today to recreate my day. Everything is then a blur as I answer her questions. Honestly, I think I blacked out at some point because the next thing I know, someone is helping me into a wedding dress.
Ten dresses later, and I’m in the last one, this strapless, feather ballgown. It’s not my choice, but none of the dresses I chose today I would wear. I didn’t want the first time I went wedding dress shopping to be on camera and without my family. I’m treating this as if I’m wearing white evening gowns.
“For this last dress, you should have a groom for the photo.” The stylist grins as I look up and see Alessandro walking toward me looking handsome in a black suit.
What the hell is he doing here?
The closer he gets, the closer I see the smug smile on his face.
No.
