Abby loves them all. I feel like I’m drowning in glitter and compliments I didn’t ask for.
And then, she slips one more hanger into the dressing room. “Okay, this one,” she says, grinning. “I don’t even care what you say, just try it on.”
I take it because if I don’t, she’ll just come in here and force me to wear it anyway.
The dress is all rose gold silk and dangerous slits.
I step into the dress, and it slides up my body sinfully. When I turn to face the mirror, I nearly gasp.
It’s like it was made for me.
A corset-style bodice hugs my torso, the defined boning sculpting my frame into something impossibly elegant. The off-the-shoulder neckline drapes softly around my arms, sensual and romantic, while thin spaghetti straps add the illusion of support.
I’m not a fan of the straps; they ruin the line of the dress, but that’s an easy fix.
The fabric is silk, smooth and rich, catching the light with a sheen that screams luxury. The bottom half is ruched just right, draping softly over my hips and enhancing every curve I didn’t know I could flaunt like this. A bold thigh-high slitslices up my leg, turning the whole thing from pretty to dangerously seductive.
It hugs me everywhere, my waist, my thighs, the slope of my breasts. Calvin would lose his mind.
I bite my lip and close my eyes.
“Turn around,” I hear him whisper, low and sinful in my head.
So I do.
The slit reveals just enough leg that I know exactly what he’d do, press his mouth right there possessively before flipping the dress up and spanking me raw if I said something bratty.
I shiver.
Get a grip, I scold myself, trying to calm the wildfire behind my ribs.
A knock rattles the dressing room door. “Can I see?” Abigail’s bright, eager voice.
I take a breath and steady my heartbeat. “Yeah,” I say, and open the door.
Her face lights up the second she sees me. “Oh my God, you look insane. That color on your skin? We’re getting it.”
“Oh yeah, babe, that is totally your dress!” Troy adds.
I smile. “You think?”
Abby scoffs like I’ve asked if water’s wet. “You’re going to turn heads at the ball. Maybe you’ll meet a handsome man there. Oh, I can’t wait,” she singsongs, practically vibrating with excitement.
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “Abby, please. I’m not looking for a man,” I mumble.
Because I’ve already found one.
One I’m not supposed to want, let alone keep.
The next night, I lie in bed clutching my phone, the screen dimming every few seconds as if mocking me.
He was supposed to come home tonight.
Abby told me earlier that something came up, that he had to stay in Wisconsin just one more day. He’ll be back in time for the gala but I don’t want to wait until then. I can’t. Not after the way we left things.
So I sent him a message. Just ‘hey’. That was nearly thirty minutes ago, and it still just says ‘delivered’.
My jaw tightens until I feel it throb. Is this another form of punishment? Because if it is, I’m not impressed. I’m unraveling. Pathetically.
