Page 106 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Stacey: I don’t think you should have even married him.
Sloane: You know, you are more agreeable with coffee in you.
Stacey: Facts. When do business things start?
Sloane: We’re going to Harrods to get clothes, and according to the schedule, tomorrow is our first business event. We’re going to a fancy club.
Stacey: Oh, that should be interesting. Never been to one of those.
Sloane: We have not. I think he wants to get me an outfit that I can wear to it.
“We’re here,” Hudson snaps, pulling my attention away from my phone and out the window, where an ornate brown building with green awnings comes into view—a stack of letters that spell outHarrodslines the building, making this moment feel…magical.
As someone who admired Nancy Meyers’sThe Parent Trap, with Lindsay Lohan, Harrods has always been stuck in my head as a must-see place while in London. And here I am. With a grumpy husband, ready to go on a shopping spree.
Fun.
The driver opens my door for me, and I slip my purse over my shoulder as Hudson walks up next to me and takes my hand in his.
Well, at least he’s holding my hand. I’ve got that going for me.
Together, we walk up to the entrance, where a bellman dressed in green opens the door. I’m immediately struck by just how beautiful the store is. I’ve seen videos and pictures of the Macy’s flagship store in New York City, but this, this doesn’t even seem to compare. The opulence, the architecture, the noticeable smell of wealth.
This is far beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
“This way,” Hudson says, leading me toward a back corner where we’re greeted by a worker wearing white gloves. Yes, white gloves. Hudson gives the guy his name, and we are ushered into a private elevator, taking us to a more secluded floor.
“Hudson Hopper,” a lady in a pencil skirt and cream blouse says as she walks up to us in her modest kitten heels. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lorraine, and I’ll be your personal shopper today.”
“Lorraine, nice to meet you,” Hudson says. “This is my wife, Sloane.”
“Hi, Sloane,” Lorraine says with a kind smile. “We have a lot picked out for you. Please follow me.”
Personal shopper…fancy.
We follow Lorraine into a room encased by glass with a couch and a few chairs. There are mannequins sporting some of the latest fashions poised around the room and flutes of champagne on the coffee table for both me and Hudson.
Doubt Hudson will touch it after what happened to him on the plane.
“I’ve pulled quite a few outfits. Mr. Hopper, if you’d like to take a seat, I can start getting your wife into the selections?—”
“I’d like to help her into the outfits,” Hudson says, his grip on my hand growing tighter.
Uh-oh.
Why do I feel like that’s not going to go over well for me?
“Oh, are you sure? Usually, I help the clients into their outfits and then we bring them out here and take pictures if it’s something you like.”
“I’m sure,” Hudson says. “No one sees my wife naked but me.”
“Of course. My apologies,” Lorraine says, looking positively terrified at Hudson’s authoritative, dark voice. “Allow me to show you to the room so you can get started. Right this way.”
She takes us to a dressing room in the back, off to the right. The door is open, so when we step in, I’m not only surprised by the amount of clothing on racks but also by the size of this room. There’s a settee in the corner, three mirrors in the other corner, and the rest of the perimeter is lined with clothes ranging from formal wear to everyday casual to…is that lingerie?
Um…sir.
My underwear is fine, thank you very much.
