The next two dresses are good and added to the keeper rack with the first purple one, and then I emerge in a yellow flowy number with a red sparkly belt.
Tora’s nose scrunches up. “It’s giving… fruit salad.” I have no idea why, but he’s absolutely right.
“Not the vibe I’m going for,” I say with a giggle, returning to the room.
“Oooh, this has promise,” Gianna says, zipping me into a fitted white velvet dress. It has padded cap sleeves, and the hemline is almost short enough to flash my uterus to passersby. But I look good. Damn good. She looks me up and down, and her lips twist to the side. “I’m just wondering if it’s too short.”
“My mom once told me if you need to know if a dress is too short, you write a W on each butt cheek. If you bend over, and it spells WOW, then it’s a no-go.”
Gianna bursts into laughter. “I’m going to have to remember that one.” She gestures with one finger. “Bend over.”
I do, and she leans down to look at my backside. This should be awkward, but Gianna has a way of making everyone around her feel comfortable.
“I don’t have a marker to do your mom’s little test, but I’m not seeing any ass cheeks. You’re all good.”
When I walk out, Tilak’s eyes widen. “Oh, I like you in white.”
Tora’s nodding his head up and down. “This is a top prospect for sure, though we haven’t seen that pink one yet. It’s kind of edgy, but I think you could pull it off.”
The pink dress is indeed very edgy. It has an empire waistline, and the bottom half is completely shredded, flashing skin every time I move. Luckily there are tiny matching shorts that cover my lady bits.
“It’s super cool,” I tell Gianna. “Maybe a movie star could pull this off, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
“I agree,” she says, bobbing her head. “Let’s see what crazy thing Tora has to say about it.”
He doesn’t disappoint. Covering his mouth, he says, “Oh my. It’s giving…” He draws out the last word, rolling his hand in the air while he thinks. “It’s giving Barbie doing the walk of shame after a one-night stand with a rabid hedgehog.”
Gianna and I double over with laughter, and even Tilak cracks a smile, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses.
“What do we have left?” Tora asks.
“Just the white Grecian style,” Gianna replies over her shoulder as we retreat back into the dressing room.
“Oooh, another white one. I’m excited,” he calls.
I stare at the last dress on the silver rack. It’s absolutely stunning, but I’m not sure about it. Until I put it on.
The neckline comes up into a point beneath the hollow of my throat, where a matte gold ring slips through the fabric and snaps around my neck. The bottom hem falls below my knees, and a wide gold belt cinches my waist to accentuate my hourglass figure. Slits rise on each side, stopping just below my hipbones.
“Dear. God,” Gianna breathes, and I nod, unable to think of any words today because I think I’m in love.
She follows me out into the staging room, and Tora and Tilak both gasp. Like honest to goodness gasps with their hands over their hearts.
Tilak makes a circle in the air for me to turn, and do, making one full rotation. Tora holds up one hand as if about to make a proclamation.
“It’s giving…”
We all wait with bated breath until he pitches his voice up about eight octaves and sings, “Goddess.” Complete with jazz hands.
A grin spreads across my face. “I literally feel like a goddess in this dress.”
“So this is the one?” he squeals.
“This is the one.”
He does a little wiggle dance. “Devereaux and I worked on this design for weeks. We debated on the fabric forever because this style is generally made with something flowier, but he insisted he wanted to try it with a luxe fabric.” He fingers the dress almost reverently. “This is a raw Eri silk imported from India, made by the Philosamia ricini species of silkworm.”
He and Tilak begin circling me like fashion-obsessed predators, assessing as they speak back and forth. “Gold matte shoes,” Tilak mumbles. “Open-toed.”
