A Solitary Romance: Book 1 in the Only Love Series by Violet Sparks Page A
Authors: Violet Sparks
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pushed her foot into Katrina's middle back, grabbed the troublesome zipper, and whooshed the dress closed, removing her tiny bare foot just in the nick of time.
"There!"
Stunned, she watched the maneuver from one of the many mirrors in the dressing room. It happened so fast, she didn't have time to protest. The fit was tight, but the rhinestones provided good camouflage.
"Hmm, I don't know, Kiki. It's a bit flashy for me, don't you think?"
"If you've got it, flaunt it, I always say."
"Plus, I don't think James would approve," she added, ignoring her friend's comment.
Kiki lifted an eyebrow.
"Conservative, is he?" the receptionist asked.
"When it comes to me, he is. Let's keep looking."
"All right, but I'm putting this on hold in case you change your mind. You could use a little cha cha cha in your wardrobe, Girl."
"Why don't we just hit up some thrift shops?" Kate suggested.
"Absolutely not! If you insist on second hand, we'll visit a consignment store I know of where everything's been altered and repaired properly."
After stopping for a coffee break, they drove to a small establishment on the border of Beverly Hills. Crystal chandeliers and robin's egg blue wallpaper made the place resemble the showroom of a French atelier instead of a consignment shop.
Katrina drew up just outside the entrance.
"Are you sure I can afford this place?" she asked.
"Listen, truncate your jewelry budget for a month, okay? I don't want to hear any more about you not having a stitch to wear if you're not willing to spend a little on your clothing."
She nodded and Kiki marched ahead, pushing open the glass doors of the shop. Her friend had a point. She took good care of her work attire, but she'd purchased most of her outfits several years ago.
She stood in the doorway and caught her breath. This store reminded her of a jewel box. Feminine to the extreme, the shop gloried in pastel pinks and blues mingled with gilt moldings, antique French commodes, and furniture upholstered in velvets the color of sherbet.
She became aware of someone stretching a measuring tape about her waist and jumped. Kiki snapped her fingers several times in front of her friend.
"Stay with us, Kate. Irina has agreed to help with your, uh, our situation."
Irina, a tall, thin woman with charcoal hair piled high atop her head, looked to be about sixty years old. She wore a black dress buttoned to the neck with a small lace collar and a self-belt. Her gaunt frame and the color of her clothes added to the woman's severe appearance. The matron took a step backwards and looked down her nose at Katrina. Then she allowed her eyes to rake up and down the girl—more than once. She scares me, the auditor admitted to herself.
"I haf de solution," Irina said, jutting her lower lip beyond a slight frown and lifting her brows over closed eyelids. The woman bobbed her head in an almost imperceptible series of nods.
"Thank you, Irina," Kiki said with a tone that relayed awe, respect, and subservience.
The merchant glided to the back of the store, and Katrina drew close to her friend to whisper in her ear.
"Is she Russian?"
"I'm not sure, but we're lucky she's willing to take you on. I've been coming here for years, and I think she's fond of me. Ugh, I forgot. You have to follow her dress code to even step foot inside, and you're not cutting it today."
She wiggled her pinkie at Katrina's tennis shoes and blue jeans.
"Dis way, please," Irina commanded from the back of the shop.
The owner pointed to a settee and intimated that the Hawaiian should take a seat while she escorted Kate into a spacious dressing room with a lone, large oval mirror. Displaying the same level of taste as the rest of the store, the area contained the stuff of fairy tales—gilded French chairs, a painted coffee table, and a gorgeous chandelier.
Katrina's jaw hit the floor when her eye caught Irina's solution . The store owner had already
"There!"
Stunned, she watched the maneuver from one of the many mirrors in the dressing room. It happened so fast, she didn't have time to protest. The fit was tight, but the rhinestones provided good camouflage.
"Hmm, I don't know, Kiki. It's a bit flashy for me, don't you think?"
"If you've got it, flaunt it, I always say."
"Plus, I don't think James would approve," she added, ignoring her friend's comment.
Kiki lifted an eyebrow.
"Conservative, is he?" the receptionist asked.
"When it comes to me, he is. Let's keep looking."
"All right, but I'm putting this on hold in case you change your mind. You could use a little cha cha cha in your wardrobe, Girl."
"Why don't we just hit up some thrift shops?" Kate suggested.
"Absolutely not! If you insist on second hand, we'll visit a consignment store I know of where everything's been altered and repaired properly."
After stopping for a coffee break, they drove to a small establishment on the border of Beverly Hills. Crystal chandeliers and robin's egg blue wallpaper made the place resemble the showroom of a French atelier instead of a consignment shop.
Katrina drew up just outside the entrance.
"Are you sure I can afford this place?" she asked.
"Listen, truncate your jewelry budget for a month, okay? I don't want to hear any more about you not having a stitch to wear if you're not willing to spend a little on your clothing."
She nodded and Kiki marched ahead, pushing open the glass doors of the shop. Her friend had a point. She took good care of her work attire, but she'd purchased most of her outfits several years ago.
She stood in the doorway and caught her breath. This store reminded her of a jewel box. Feminine to the extreme, the shop gloried in pastel pinks and blues mingled with gilt moldings, antique French commodes, and furniture upholstered in velvets the color of sherbet.
She became aware of someone stretching a measuring tape about her waist and jumped. Kiki snapped her fingers several times in front of her friend.
"Stay with us, Kate. Irina has agreed to help with your, uh, our situation."
Irina, a tall, thin woman with charcoal hair piled high atop her head, looked to be about sixty years old. She wore a black dress buttoned to the neck with a small lace collar and a self-belt. Her gaunt frame and the color of her clothes added to the woman's severe appearance. The matron took a step backwards and looked down her nose at Katrina. Then she allowed her eyes to rake up and down the girl—more than once. She scares me, the auditor admitted to herself.
"I haf de solution," Irina said, jutting her lower lip beyond a slight frown and lifting her brows over closed eyelids. The woman bobbed her head in an almost imperceptible series of nods.
"Thank you, Irina," Kiki said with a tone that relayed awe, respect, and subservience.
The merchant glided to the back of the store, and Katrina drew close to her friend to whisper in her ear.
"Is she Russian?"
"I'm not sure, but we're lucky she's willing to take you on. I've been coming here for years, and I think she's fond of me. Ugh, I forgot. You have to follow her dress code to even step foot inside, and you're not cutting it today."
She wiggled her pinkie at Katrina's tennis shoes and blue jeans.
"Dis way, please," Irina commanded from the back of the shop.
The owner pointed to a settee and intimated that the Hawaiian should take a seat while she escorted Kate into a spacious dressing room with a lone, large oval mirror. Displaying the same level of taste as the rest of the store, the area contained the stuff of fairy tales—gilded French chairs, a painted coffee table, and a gorgeous chandelier.
Katrina's jaw hit the floor when her eye caught Irina's solution . The store owner had already
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