“You’re going to have to ask a worker to unlock one of those,” Juliet says with a sympathetic grimace as she nods at the little row of changing rooms.
I sigh, because it’s always my preference to try things on in peace and quiet. “I know.”
The lady who unlocks the room isn’t the same overly helpful woman from last time, though, and she just tells me to ask if I need anything. Juliet and I slip inside.
“Try it on!” Jules says with excitement. “Come on, I want to see!”
“I’m going. Just give me a sec.”
The smaller size is too tight—I can’t get the zipper all the way up, even with Juliet’s help—but the second size is perfect.
“Ooh,” she breathes. She takes a step back, her eyes wide as she looks me over. “It’s so pretty, Aurora. Your curves look amazing.” Then her gaze comes back to mine. “Is it comfortable?”
“Yeah, it’s comfortable,” I say. I turn sideways to check the dress in the mirror, and Juliet is right—it fits well, and it hugs all the right places. “Is it too short?”
Jules scoffs at this. “Of course not. I mean—for the office, maybe. But you’re not wearing it to the office.”
“That’s true,” I admit as a mental picture of myself at the auction blooms in my mind—and the image of Casual Bart’s smug face. Instead of feeling annoyed or vindictive, though, the thought of him just makes me tired.
I’m not sure I have the energy to care what he thinks anymore.
I sigh as I continue to stare vaguely at my reflection. All these people signing up for our services, the people willing to participate in a dating auction just to find love—they’re so hopeful.
There are people like me, or like Roman’s aunt Elabeth, who’ve more or less sworn off love because of prior experience.
And then there are people like Bart, or Goddard, or even Roman’s dad, who pretend to want love but really seem to want something easier, something more convenient.
Not so long ago, I wanted that too—easy, convenient, surface-level. But that kind of relationship no longer holds the appeal it used to, and so I’m left wondering: What path have I put myself on?
All she had to show for being right is that she died alone.
Roman’s voice, echoing in my head, where it has no right to be—but it’s there anyway, repeating the words he spoke about his aunt.
“You don’t look happy,” Juliet says, and I startle back to myself.
“No, I’m—fine,” I say quickly. “I’m happy.”
Juliet gives a curious hum, a sound that echoes her expression. “What—do you not like it?” she says, nodding to the dress in the mirror. “Do you want to try a different size?”
“No,” I say. “No, I really like the dress. And this size is good. I just—” I swallow. “I’m tired. And stressed. That’s all.”
Now her face morphs into something more knowing. She folds her arms and raises her eyebrows at me. “Mm-hmm.”
“Stop making that noise.”
“I’m just saying...” Her voice trails off delicately, and I sigh, trudging over to the little bench and sitting down.
Keeping things from Juliet is useless.
“Do you think I’m going to be alone forever?” I say.
“No,” she says promptly, looking down at me.
I swallow and try to keep my chin up. “Me either.”
“Well…that’s good, then,” she says. Her too-perceptive gaze darts over my features.
“I just wonder sometimes. That’s all. And I’ve been thinking about Roman a lot, I guess.”
