Every woman has a fantasy. Some wish for a handsome prince to come riding up on his white charger and carry her away to that legendarily well-touted Happily Ever After. Some long for fame on stage or screen, being the one woman in the world every man sees, desires, goes majorly stupid over. Some long to be captains of industry, and can actually see themselves in snazzy corner offices, wielding their power with a brilliance that earns them the cover of Time magazine.

Holly Hollis had set her sights a little lower this fall day in New York City.

All she wanted—and only for an hour, at that—was a man. Living, breathing, capable of walking and chewing gum at the same time.

Just give her a man.

Ah, come on, somebody send her a man.

Oh, and could some kind providence please make him a size thirty-eight long...? "Jackie! Brides glide. They do not clomp. Maybe you're modeling Eddie Bauer Mountain Momma wear next week, but this week it's Sutherland's, and Sutherland designs call for gliding. Got that?"

"I can't help it, Holly. It's these shoes. They're too small." Jackie, the six-foot-tall model, her bones and skin—she may have had a fat cell sometime in her life, but she'd banished it long ago—made a face. She was clad in a Sutherland bridal gown, looked fabulous, but walked toward Holly Hollis like a duck in hip boots.

"Shoes!" Holly called out to anyone who'd listen, and within moments there were a half-dozen hands holding out a half-dozen pair of shoes. White satin pumps. Ivory lace-covered heels. Plain shoes. Shoes with silver buckles. Shoes with heels so curved they looked as if they'd warped.

"Size? Come on, come on