There’s no harm in playing around with a crush, right?
I’ll make him admit he’s attracted to me if it’s the last thing I do.
Dress shopping with Mom is usually a painful experience given our different tastes in dresses.
Mom aims for anything sparkly with larger skirts and straps that always make me feel tied down.
I suspect she chooses louder, puffier dresses for me to hide my body and create the illusion of someone small and skinny hiding underneath the ruffles.
I prefer form-fitting dresses with long, simple skirts and collars that accentuate my tits.
Now I have someone to pose for, that becomes the only dress I allow in the fitting room, much to Mom’s annoyance.
Nearly dying three times finally gives me the courage to put my foot down about my clothing choices, and it’s paying off.
Falco can’t keep his eyes off me.
That might be because he takes his job so seriously, but I’m choosing to believe it’s because I’ve paraded in front of him in six gorgeous, elegant dresses that wrap my body in silk and make me look really fucking good.
Even Mom grudgingly admitted to liking a few of them.
He’s spent the past three hours standing by the door like a statue, one hand clasped over his wrist as they rest just at his waist.
He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t smile, and the only time he moves is to send a few glances toward Mom’s bodyguard as if they’re speaking in some sort of code.
Other than that, he stares at me intently.
And I like it.
None of the dresses I’ve shown compares to the last dress.
As the tailor zips me up, I gaze at myself in the floor-length mirror while my heart flutters in excitement.
This is the dress.
The floor-length black gown shimmers in the low light as the built-in bone corset hugs my waist with just the right amount of form-fitting pressure.
The corset shoves my tits up into the plunging neckline, making them look amazing as the halter straps loop around my neck.
A long slit on the left of the dress parts as I take my first step off the stage, clasping the tailor’s hand as I walk.
“With heels, you won’t need to worry about the extra length,” she says as she leads me out through the curtain. “The fabric will kiss the ground as you walk and it’s light enough that it’s breathable, so even under hot lights, such as a show, you won’t be overheating.”
“Aerin!” Mom stands abruptly, her hands flying to her face. “Oh darling, look at you! Although, are you sure you want this in black? It’s very…bold. And a lot of fabric.”
A compliment and an insult within the same breath. Classic.
“This is the dress.” I give her a wide smile. “It feels good. I look good. And it’s perfect for a long dinner.”
“Aerin, No. I’m not sure?—”
“Mom.” I stop a few feet away from her and smooth my hands down the corset, tracing the elegant swirling details worked into the underbust. “This is the dress.”
While an argument still blazes in her eyes, Mom nods slowly and sighs. “Are you sure?”
“Should we get a man’s opinion?” My eyes lock immediately onto Falco, who is staring at me just as intently as the last few times I’ve walked out of the curtain. “What do you think?”
“Darling, that’s not necessary,” Mom sighs, brushing her fingertips along her jawline. “I’m just making sure you’re making the best choice for you.”
