"You told me," I say, shaking my head in disbelief. "You told me he's never been able to stick to anything in his life. And I thought you were nuts. But you were right. You were a hundred percent right."

"Luke's not a bad guy," Chaz says mildly. "He's just...confused."

"Well," I say, slipping my cell phone back into my purse. "Are you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"If I'm going to move to Paris with him? He wants me to, you know. He says his family will loan me the money to set up a shop there."

"I'm sure they will," Chaz says. "And no, I'm not going to ask you."

I set my jaw. For someone I'm so crazy about, Chaz happens to be the most infuriating person I've ever met.

"Why not?" I demand. "Don't you want me to stay here in New York?"

"Of course I do," Chaz says. "But, like I said, what happens in the future is already unavoidable. So I'm just going to enjoy what time I have left with you."

"That," I say disgustedly, "is such crap."

"Well," he says in the same unruffled tone, "that's probably true too. What do you feel like? I feel like Thai food. Do you feel like Thai food? Isn't there a good Thai place around the corner from here?"

"How can you think about food at a time like this?" I yell at him. "Do you know-do you have any earthly idea-that every time I think about marrying Luke, I break out in hives?"

Chaz raises his eyebrows. "That," he says, "is not a good sign. I mean, for him. And, I'm guessing, for Paris."

"It's a horrible sign," I say. "What did you mean back in Detroit when you said Luke hasn't exactly been a Boy Scout the whole time he and I have been going out?"

Chaz rolls his eyes. "Look," he says. "I don't really want to talk about this in front of the Vera Wang flagship store, okay? Let's go home. We can change out of these hot sticky clothes and I can run you a cool bath and order some Thai food and fix us both a couple of gin and tonics and we can sip them while we discuss the vagaries of life and I give you a full body massage-"

"No," I say, resisting the arm he's put around me. "Chaz! I'm serious. This is serious. I don't want to-"

But I never get the chance to tell Chaz what it is I don't want to do, because at that moment, two women who were passing by stop in front of the window and gaze at the gown I was admiring.

"See, Mom," the younger woman says. "That's the kind of dress I want."

"Well, dream on," her mother says. "Because a dress like that costs twenty grand. Do you have an extra twenty grand lying around?"

"It's not fair," the girl insists, stamping her Steve Maddenclad foot. "Why can't I have what I want? Just this once?"

"You can," the older woman says, "if you want to be paying for it for the next thirty years. Is that how you want to start your married life?"

"No," the bride says, sounding as if she's pouting a little.

"I didn't think so. So get over it. We're going to Kleinfeld's."

"God," the bride says as her mother drags her away. "You're so cheap. If you had your way, we'd get my wedding gown at Geck's."

The mother and daughter drift away, and I find myself staring after them in astonishment. Every single nerve ending in my body is tingling. I feel as if I've just caught fire.

A shop that offers beautiful couture for the ordinary girl, at prices she can afford. For brides.

"Oh my God, Chaz," I say. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" He still has his arm around me. "The part about the full body massage I'm going to give you?"

"Them." I open my purse and start digging around in it for my cell phone. "Did you hear what they said?"

"About going to Kleinfeld's? Yeah. Hey, maybe that's where you should get a job. That's where everybody goes to get their wedding dresses. That's where my sister went. Not that it helped. She still looked like me. In a wedding dress. Poor kid. She tried waxing and everything."

"No," I say, stabbing at the numbers on the keypad of my phone. "Not that part."

Be there, I pray. Pick up. Pick up.

A second later, a voice chirps, "Hello?"

"It's me," I say. "Please don't hang up. I know you hate me. But I've got a business proposition I've got to talk to you about. It's important. And you won't regret it. I promise. Where are you?"

"Me?" She sounds slightly confused. "I'm at the dog run. Why?"

"Stay there," I say. "Do not move. I'll be right over."

A HISTORY of WEDDINGS Carrying the bride over the threshold is a tradition that harkens back to the ancient practice of capturing brides from rival tribes or villages. It was also thought to-say it all together now-trick any evil spirits that might be lurking in the new home.

Today's modern bride may find the practice sexist or-often more alarming, considering the state of many HMOs-may fear her groom will throw his back out in attempting to lift her.

It is, for these reasons, a tradition that is losing popularity and may safely be skipped in lieu of a kitchen witch.

Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster There is a rumor flying around that the cost of the gift you give at a wedding as a guest should roughly equal the amount of the cost of the food and wine you are served at the reception. This is ridiculous. Your gift should be tasteful-and does not even have to come from the bridal registry-but does not in any way have to be proportionate to the cost of what you are being served. Any bride who suggests otherwise deserves the wooden spoon you give her applied to her backside.

LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS * Chapter 21 *

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

Aristotle (384 B.C.322 B.C.), Greek philosopher Wedding gowns?" Ava echoes, her carefully plucked eyebrows raised. "At Geck's?"

"Why not at Geck's?" I'm perched beside her on a park bench next to the small dog run at Carl Schurz Park. The small dog run is actually a raised, fenced-in stage along the boardwalk by the East River, where pedestrians can stop and watch the tiny dogs as they skitter after tennis balls thrown by their owners. This seems a source of particular delight to toddlers, whose parents lift them to stand along the edge of the stage, and who shriek in delight every time a Pomeranian or miniature pinscher comes dancing in their general direction.

Ava, however, is holding an exhausted Snow White in her lap. The Chihuahua has apparently run after so many tennis balls that she is virtually unconscious on her mistress's smooth, tanned thighs, a fact of which the reality television crew, filming Ava for the pilot she hopes gets picked up, Slaves of Ava, is taking pointed note. I can't help staring at the cameras looming over me, even though Ava has told me not to pay any attention to them.

"You don't even see them after a while," she says, with a yawn that, I can't help noticing, is made all the more elfin and charming by the fact that her bee-stung lips are perfectly glossed.

"Ava." It's even harder than usual to get her full attention due to the fact that DJ Tippycat is still inside the dog run with his French bulldog puppy, and Ava's gaze keeps straying toward him every five seconds. "Listen to me. You said you wanted to do something with your life. Remember? After you broke things off with Prince Aleksandros. You have to have meant something more than just another tired old reality show. Well, this is your chance. Not only to prove to the world that you're more than just an bubbleheaded heiress, but to help out millions of brides who want to have a beautiful gown but can't afford it."

Ava doesn't look remotely interested. She's gazing through the enormous black lenses of her sunglasses at a tugboat chugging down the river in front of us. I glance over my shoulder at Chaz, who is waiting for me out of camera range. He refused to sign the waivers the film crew demanded in order for me to speak to Ava while she was on camera, so he has to wait out of the shot until I'm done. He doesn't look too unhappy. He's found a hot dog vendor and is munching away, enjoying one with everything, along with a cold soda, in the shade.

"I don't know," Ava says. "What do I know about clothing design?"

"You don't have to design the gowns," I say through gritted teeth. "I'll take care of that part. You just have to market the clothes. And Geck Industries have to provide the labor and materials. I'm not talking sweatshop labor or cheap materials, either. I'm talking quality craftsmanship, sewn here, in America. The gowns have to look gorgeous and feel nice against the skin. But nothing can retail for more than four hundred dollars. It all just has to be designed by me and marketed by you...the Lizzie NicholsAva Geck bridal line."

She perks up at this. "Hey. I kind of like the sound of that."

"I thought you might," I say, eyeing the camera uncomfortably as they swoop around us.

"Lizzie and Ava," she says. "Or Ava and Lizzie?"

"Whichever," I say. I can't quite believe she's actually going for it. I'd been shocked she'd even taken my call, let alone agreed to meet with me. I hadn't planned much beyond my initial pitch, not thinking I'd get further than that. "Either works, I think."

"That's so cute," Ava gushes with so much enthusiasm that Snow White nearly tumbles from her lap. "Can we, like, do bridesmaid dresses too?"

"I don't see why not," I say. One of the cameras comes in for a close-up. I am acutely conscious of the fact I haven't powdered my nose all day, and that I am sweating copiously. I pray to God this show won't ever get picked up by a major network. Or Bravo.

On the other hand, if Ava accepts this deal, who even cares?

"And flower girls?" she asks.

"Sure," I say.

"What about clothes for dogs," Ava says. "When DJ Tippycat's divorce from that ho wife of his comes through, we want Snow White and Delilah to be in our wedding."

I look down at Snow White, struggling to find purchase on Ava's vinyl mini. One of the cameras zooms in on Ava's crotch. I switch my prayer to a different one...that she's wearing panties.

"Um," I say. "Sure. We can do a line of wedding wear for dogs."

"Okay," Ava says. "That sounds like fun." She eyes me a little uneasily. "But if we're going to work together, Lizzie, I need to know we're not gonna have that same...problem we had before...are we?"

I shake my head. "Ava, I swear on my grandmother's grave, I will never blab something I'm not supposed to ever again." And I know, as I say it, that this time I really mean it.

Really.

"Okay," Ava says cheerfully. "Lemme call Daddy." And she gets out her cell phone.

"Wait." I stare at her. "You're going to do it now?"

"Yeah," she says, dialing. "Why not?"

"Um." I glance over at Chaz. He beams at me and gives me a thumbs-up. "Nothing. Go ahead."

A second later, Ava's removed the gum from her mouth with a murmured Sorry in my direction, and is saying, "Daddy? It's me. Yeah, hi. So, I want to start my own line of bridal wear at the store. What? The reality show? Oh, whatever, that's so two thousand and seven. Anyway, I'm working with Lizzie, the girl who did my dress for my wedding to Alek? Uh-huh. Yeah, the one who outed me to the paps. But that, like, wasn't her fault, really. Her sister did it, and she's, like, a fat-armed cow. I know. Anyway, she wants to-well, here, I'll let her tell you." To my horror, Ava holds her pink Swarovski-encrusted phone out to me. "Tell him the thing about the beautiful gowns for girls at prices they can afford."

I fumble for the phone, my mouth going instantly dry. "Um, h-hello? Mr. Geck?"

"Yes?" A voice, gravelly from too many years of cigar smoke, demands impatiently.

I repeat Luke's line about beautiful gowns that brides can actually afford, and somehow the same spiel I'd given Ava just seconds ago about how Geck's would be in charge of labor and materials-but they couldn't be cheap!-and I'd be in charge of design while Ava would be in charge of marketing comes spilling from between my lips.

And in that moment, sitting in the sunshine by the river, with the Slaves of Ava camera crew on me, and Henry Geck on the phone, and Chaz a few dozen yards away, watching over me like a shaggy sheepdog, I'm pretty sure I have an actual out-of-body experience. It's as if all the times I have ever blabbed a secret involuntarily or said something I didn't mean to or revealed an intimacy probably best left unsaid, and was called upon to exercise my powers of charm in order to make amends come back to me with laserlike intensity and focus on a single point-the man on the other end of the phone. I am no longer Lizzie Nichols, almost-certified professional vintage wedding gown refurbisher, fiance of Luke de Villiers, on whom (by the way) she is cheating with his best friend, currently probably a two on the Bad Girl Scale, about to lose her home, her business, and her life.

I am Elizabeth Nichols, cool and collected designer of wedding attire, with a single desire: to make beautiful bridal gowns-and bridesmaid and flower girl and dog clothes-available to the masses, at a reasonable price.

Suddenly I am on fire. I am invincible. The cameras swing entirely from Ava and onto me. Even though, as she gazes at me, her thighs swing apart, and it becomes apparent she's going commando today. And she's gone and gotten herself a Brazilian.

"Well," Mr. Geck says when I'm through and have paused to take a breath. "Miss Nichols, I must say. That sounds like an interesting idea. I'd certainly like to hear more. Why don't you and Ava come over for dinner tonight and we'll talk about it some more? Put her back on the horn."

I hand the phone back to Ava, feeling dazed.

"He wants to talk to you," I say.

"Oh, goody," Ava says. "Hi, Daddy. You like Lizzie's idea? Yeah, I know, me too. Okay. Eight? Yeah, we'll be there. Okay, buh-bye." She hangs up and looks at me. "He wants you to bring some sketches. Do you have any?"

I look at her, feeling slightly nauseous.

But it's a good nauseous. It's a great nauseous, actually.

"By eight tonight," I say a little hazily, "I will have."

"You're going to design a line of bridal gowns for Geck's?" Chaz asks as we hurry down Seventy-eighth Street, back toward Chez Henri. "And Ava Geck is going to do...what, exactly?"

"Be my spokesmodel slash corporate representative," I say.

"Does Geck's even sell nice clothes?" Chaz wants to know.

"They will after they start selling mine," I say. "Ava will make sure of that. They're going to have her name on them too."

"And you trust her?" Chaz sounds dubious. "Ava, I mean. No offense, Lizzie, but-"

"If the next words that come out of your mouth are 'skanky crack whore,' you're never setting foot in my apartment again. For however little time left I have it."

"I'm just saying, like another person whose name I won't mention, Ava doesn't exactly have a reputation for stick-to-it-tiveness. Except where pudding wrestling is concerned."

"Maybe because no one has really given her a chance to prove herself," I say defensively. "I mean, she's an heiress. When has she ever had to stick to anything? But she seems really serious about this. The dog clothes were her idea."

"Oh yeah," Chaz says, with a chuckle, putting his arm around my shoulders. "She's serious about this all right."

"Chaz," I say, leaning into him. I don't care that I'm hot and sweaty (and so is he). Even when I'm annoyed with him, like now, I can't stop myself from touching him. It just feels...right. "People love their pets. They really want them to be a part of their special day."

"But doesn't the idea of your enabling them to do so by designing mini doggie tuxedos for them make you the slightest bit queasy?"

"No," I say firmly. "Not if it's going to save the jobs of everyone at the shop."

"And how is your designing doggie tuxedos for Geck's going to do that?" Chaz wants to know.

"I haven't figured that part out yet," I say as we hurry along. "I'm just taking this one step at a time. First I've got to get these sketches done. Then get the deal in place. Then I'll get to that part."

"You're incredible," Chaz says. And there's no hint of sarcasm in his tone now.

Still, I pull him to a stop and narrow my eyes as I peer up at him. "Are you mocking me?" I demand suspiciously.

"Absolutely not," Chaz says, looking down at me with a perfectly serious expression on his face. He's dropped his arm from my shoulders, but now he puts both his hands there instead. "I told you before-you're a star, Lizzie Nichols. And I am humbled to be allowed to hitch my wagon to your star. Just tell me what you need me to do to help, and I'll do it."