They poured pale gold sparkling wine into the slim flute she held, and then she swiveled, extending her arm and the glass toward me.
It would just go to waste if I didn’t accept it.
What the heck.“Yes, please.”
The hostess or head designer or whoever she was shot me a tight-lipped smile as I sat on her white couch in my denim shorts.
And then, not that it was any of my business, because how Nicolai lived his life wasreallynotanyof my business and I didn’t need to be mothering or smothering him at all because this was a contracted fake marriage for show andnotan actual relationship, but I was glad when he waved off the champagne and asked for a glass of orange juice instead.
If nothing else, he would probably feel better if he got some vitamins in him and pumped up his blood sugar, because there was no way he could’ve completely recovered fromthatkind of hangover so fast.
So, I sipped the sparkling champagne while I sat on the luxurious fuzzy couch, and that’s when the models started strutting down the stage, one after the other, spinning with practiced pivots and death glares, probably because they must be hungry.
The models wore gorgeous evening gowns, rippling over their bony shoulders and jutting pelvises in all the right ways, and they minced down the short runway and back, showing off how the material clung to their flat butts.
The hostess lady slipped Clementine a notebook and a pen.
I watched the bubbles soar through the golden wine in my glass because the hostess probably knew that Clementine would understand what we were looking at there on those models, because I totally didn’t.
Clementine glanced between the two of us and must have noted that the hostess lady didn’t provide a second notebook, so she scooted over next to me until her thin thigh pressed against mine. She laid one side of the three-ring binder on my lap as the lady started announcing the designers’ names and describing the dresses and years and collections they were from.
The notebook held laminated pages of other models wearing the same clothes, some in different colors. Clementine flipped the pages as the models rotated on the stage.
Okay, look. I didn’t attend my high school prom.
I’d already been dating Jimmy for two years at that point, and he was away at his freshman year of college. I’d thought about going stag, but all my friends were either coupled up or else their older boyfriends had traveled home for their prom.
I hadn’t wanted to be the only one without a date and not dancing.
Besides, my mom was married to Gerry at that point. Rogan and Jake were barely toddlers. They’d had no extra money to give me, and I hadn’t been working much yet because I was still in high school. I didn’t have the cash for a nice dress or to go out to dinner or chip in for a limo, so I stayed home.
But I’d dreamed about the dress I would’ve worn.
And these dresses were way,waybetter.
I mean, light-years better. I didn’t even know how to dream about dresses like this.
These dresses were made from “hand-loomed silk” and had “signature Venetian crystals” and were “bespoke couture brands,” the hostess announced.
I’d dreamed in rayon.
Clementine looked at me and cocked her head to the side. “You’re a bright autumn. You would look amazing in any of the warm metallics, as well as the garnet, merlot, or dark gem tones. Sadly, we’ll have to make do with the samples in the shop. No time to fly in a custom dress from New York or Milan.”
I had no idea what all that meant, but I could figure out that I should be looking at gold-ish metallics and red wine colors.
All the models were a lot thinner than I was, though. The dresses looked great on them, but I had a bad feeling that I would look like a cocoon-swaddled caterpillar slowly turning to goo if I tried to wear one. They wouldneverzip up.
Clementine gestured with her pen at three of the models who she’d told to remain standing over on one of the wings of the stage. “What do you think of those three over there?”
I whispered to her, “I don’t think I have the same body type as those women. I’m afraid of how those dresses would look on me.”
She swiveled her hand as if my worries were of no consequence. “The dresses will be altered so they will fit you properly.”
“Yeah, but they’re not going to fit me likethat.”
Clementine inclined her head toward mine as if she were telling me a secret. “They’ll raise the sides of the dress or add structure as necessary. Plus, foundation garments do wonders.”
I suspected Clementine had never needed a foundation garment in her life. “The dress might not look right if they have to do all that to it, though. It’s not going to look good.I’mnot going to look good.”
