Jen snorts. “I know what you mean.”
I reach inside the designer bag and get the largest box out first, open it, and pull out a little black dress. Simple, elegant, and formfitting. “I can’t wear this,” I say. I hate showing my curves, and that baby-doll outfit I wore last night was enough for the year, thank you very much.
“Trust me, Nes. The little black dresses from this place mold to a woman’s body and show it off in the best of ways.”
I put the dress back and get the second box. Black leather heels with red soles. “Jesus.”
Jen snags the other shoe, slips it on her foot. “Let me dress up, and you can see what you’ll look like.”
“Like half a million dollars, I bet.”
“Like half a million dollars in your pocket.”
She’s right. I grab the velvet box and open it, expecting earrings, or really anything besides a large diamond mounted on a simple band.
“Whoa,” Jen says and we lean in, hovering over it.
“It’s so pretty,” I say.
“Yeah, and clear as fuck.”
“How can you tell?”
“The light it’s reflecting. See? Nothing blue.”
“Since when are you a diamond expert?”
“I’m not but the finest selection is expected from Hellway.”
We’re avoiding the obvious. A ring is an unusual gift when a man dresses a woman who’s gonna accompany him to a gala dinner. “Is this something billionaires or rock stars give? Am I looking into the message too hard?”
“That’s definitely not something they do, but maybe he does.”
“That’s even worse.”
“How so?”
“Well, if this is something he does on the regular…”
“Then you’re one among many Cinderellas.” Jen throws a hand over my shoulder. “And that bothers you because you’ve already fallen for the billionaire.”
“Have not.”
“Have too. I see it in your face. All flustered and flushed and seeking commitment from him. Oh sister, there’s hope for you yet.”
Sitting down, I hold my forehead in my hand. “It’s the stupid hymen doing the thinking for me.”
Jen sits with me, grabs the second shoe, and slips it on her foot. She lifts her legs, admiring the heels. “You should’ve put out for Randy in high school.”
“Randy? Oh, come on, Jen. Everyone put out for that guy, and he had more brains in his biceps than in his head.” Jen put out for him too, but I don’t say that because she thinks I don’t know. I know because her cheer squad gossiped in the bathroom when I sat in a stall.
“I’ll do your hair and makeup,” she says. “He’s gonna fall in love tonight.”
“That implies he hasn’t already, and this thing,” I pick up the ring, “is his way of messing with my head. He’s playing with me to see what I’ll do.”
Jen leans in, her blue eyes, same as mine, wide as she smiles. “If that’s the case, surprise him. I bet he expects you to leave the ring at home.”
“Hm. I don’t think he likes surprises. He’s all about routine and predictable planned behaviors.”
