May 2019
Throughout my relationship with Harry, I've certainly had a few moments where I had to wonder how this was possibly my life. The first time it ever happened, I think, might have been the very first time he took me to see the little town where he grew up for Christmas. Then it was probably when we moved into our first place together. After that, it was probably when I learned that I was pregnant with his child, right before he released an album into the world that was all about me.
And now, I was on my way to the Gucci store on Bond Street, where my wedding dress was waiting for me to try on. I was fully prepared to go dress shopping just like every other girl in the world, but it was Gucci that reached out to Harry's team and asked if I might be interested in having them make me a custom dress for the occasion–if I might be interested.
I fully thought Harry was kidding when he brought it up to me, and I thought it was a cruel joke at that. But then he showed me the email thread from the creative director himself saying that he would love to make Harry a suit, and not just one dress, but two for me. The first would obviously be the wedding gown, and the second would either be the dress I wear for the rehearsal dinner or the reception. They even wanted to make a dress for Charlie, and I think I was honestly the most excited about that.
But as grateful as I was for the gesture, I was the happiest just to have my mom, Hazel, Gemma, and Anne with me for the special fitting. I only felt guilty because of the paparazzi, who had been relentless ever since my ring started making more of a clear appearance anytime I was seen out with Harry.
We had both realized that they figured out which neighborhood we lived in after following us home from the airport after our trip to Italy last November. More often than not, at least one of them was constantly waiting outside the neighborhood gate for one of us to leave, and that blew my mind. I would assume they had better things to do or more important people to see, but I guess not.
As soon as our small group walked up to the front of the store, the manager I had been in contact with opened the door for us, greeting us with the warmest welcome, and proceeded to lock the door on the paparazzi or anyone else who might try to come in. I couldn't believe that they went out of their way to close the whole store for however long it would take for me to try on both dresses or for the stylist to make any fitting adjustments.
"How are you, Miss James?" Giana asked me as she made her rounds to shake everyone's hands.
"Oh, I'm doing really well, thanks. How are you?"
"Good, I'm well, thanks for asking," her whole gracefully aging face lit up as she smiled under thick prescription glasses. "Are you ready to try on your dresses?"
"Yes, definitely ready," I beamed right back, unable to contain my excitement. Ever since I got the email saying they were finished and on their way from Italy to England, I was counting the days until I'd be able to put them on.
We followed her through the store space to the dressing area, which held a round, purple velvet couch large enough to seat everyone. The room was tucked away in the back, secluded from any and all windows to offer the privacy we needed.
Evelyn was practically already in tears as I handed her my purse so Giana could guide me into the largest fitting room. Both dresses were waiting for me inside, hung on plush white satin hangers with the gold Gucci logo printed in the center of the arch.
"Oh my God," I gasped with my hand flying up to slap over my mouth. "That's–those are mine?"
Giana laughed with her hand on my shoulder. "I hope that's a good reaction."
