I smile politely. “It’s the most flattering... I’d go for this one,” I say.
He leans into the doorframe. “Yeah, I would too.” He runs his eyes over me for a few euphoric moments before clearing his throat, giving his head a light shake. “That’s the one; thank you for your help.”
“No problem, of course it would be the two-thousand-euro one.” I take a deep breath. “Do you need to take the dresses back now?” I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb into the room, my heart starting to pound. I don’t really know what I’m actually asking, but safe to say neither of us is thinking about Jocelyn’s outfit choices.
“Yeah, I do,” he answers, his low timbre and eyes on me making me want to try on a million more things for him. He follows me into the room, his jaw subtly tensing.
“Okay, one sec,” I say, taking a long overdue exhale once I lock myself in the bathroom. Him looking at me like that is not exactly the “friendly” behavior we agreed upon. And neither is the feeling between my thighs.
Zipping the dressupwas hard enough, but as I tug on the metal toggle to pull it down, my stress levels start to spike. Fuck. I tug and tug, throwing my body from side to side as I try to yank myself free. I let out a yelp as my elbow smacks into the metal towel rail. After the longest six seconds of my life, I give up, holding onto the edges of the bathroom sink as I try to calm myself. I’m going to have to pull myself out of this thingone way or another, but the warmth from the towel rails and underfloor heating is making me sweat even more. I step in circles around the bathroom and lift the skirt hem up over my body until it hits my waist.
Okay, this is fine. I can do this.
I take a deep breath in and then fully exhale until my chest is as deflated as can be before pulling the remaining fabric up my waist and over my chest. Except, I don’t get it over my chest; instead the seam of the dress cinches inward like a bear trap over my boobs and pins me, arms upraised, in a red fabric prison.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”
The panic truly sets in when I remember I’m wearing makeup, fucking red lipstick that I stupidly put on to... what? Impress Oliver? Now it’s going to get all over this two-thousand-euro dress, oh my god. I’m sweating, now I’m sweating. Sweat patches, foundation and lipstick are rubbing all over the front of this two-thousand-euro dress as I fling myself around the room like one of those dancing noodle arm inflatables until the heel of my shoe collides against the metal bin with a loudgong.
“Fucking hell!” I growl from inside my 100 percent ethically sourced, sustainably recycled viscose tomb.
A brisk knock is followed by Oliver’s muffled voice from behind the door. “Everything okay in there?”
“Uh-huh, everything’s fine!” I shout, my voice clearly shaky and panicked. My biceps are cramping from being stuck above my head at this angle.
“Are you sure? Because it kind of sounds like you’re in the middle of a fight?” The voice sounds even more muffled now, like he has his face up against the door. “Or is this the wrestling you were talking about at the café?”
“I’m fine, I’m... I’m just stuck.” My chest is heaving, tightening the fabric around me like a boa constrictor.
He’s silent for a few seconds. “Stuck, how?”
“Like, stuck in the dress!” I shout, almost scream.
“Can I help you?” His voice levels.
“No.” My voice cracks on the word. I don’t want him to see me like this. Exposed like this. He has his phone with him and I’m fucking trapped. My heart pounds at the thought of him seeing me like this.
“Violet, can you please let me help you?” he says, but I can barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I clamp my eyes shut. “Only if you leave your phone outside.”
“Okay, sure. Let me in,” he says. It’s not exactly a request, but he avoids saying it in a demanding tone.
Chest heaving, I swallow my pride and turn slowly toward the sound of his voice in hopes of finding the door. When I do, I bend over until my hands are at doorknob height and pull down on the metal handle.
I straighten as the door clicks open, and for a second it seems like no one is there until Oliver’s voice says, “You know you were just meant to try the dresses on, not turn them into an avant-garde fashion project?”
I ignore his attempt at a joke, too embarrassed at being this helpless in front of him trapped in my underwear. “Undo the zip,” I say louder than I mean to.
He’s seen me like this before, except this time it’s not my choice. My eyes sting with undropped tears as I realize I’m completely vulnerable to his course of action.
“Of course, just try to breathe.” He goes quiet, clearly sensing my mood. “Jesus, it’s so hot in here.” He pulls me out of thebathroom into the much cooler bedroom and grips the sides of the dress, heaving it back down my body. My dead arms drop to the side as I pull in a lung full of cold air and his peppery scent.
“You’re okay,” he assures me, smoothing down my frizzy hair, the look of concern and confusion making his amber-laced eyes darken under his brow. His hands move to my jaw, tilting my head upward to scan my face as a tear finally escapes down my cheek.
I take another long breath, looking him in the eye this time. “I just need to get out of this dress,” I say, my breathing regulating but my voice still shaky, turning around and grabbing for the zip.
“It’s all right. I got it.” He curls my hair around his palm and places it over my shoulder, moving it out of the zipper’s path. His fingers leave a trail of heat across my neck, but I barely register it compared to the adrenaline streaming through my veins like river rapids.
