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I wonder if Alice is like this with everyone. Is she one of those people who somehow gets everyone talking about themselves even when they don’t intend to? There are people out there with that ability, whether they realise it or not.

Maybe she has this effect on everyone. Either way, I’m unsure how I feel about her knowing these things about me.

It came as no surprise when she shared some of her own upbringing. Alice is like a library book—there for anyone to borrow and read.

What I still can’t work out is whether everyone gets to read the real version of Alice or whether they get the carefully tailored edition designed specifically for them, like a well-marketed psychological thriller or a fashionable historical romance.

I just feel for her, because people borrow the version she gives them and then wonder why they end up returning her.

There’s a rustling from behind the thick purple curtain as Alice’s voice drifts from the other side.

“Are you ready?” she says.

“Ready if you are,” I tell her, taking a step back as she pulls open the curtain and reveals herself, holding her breath.

A second passes, and every thought in my head jams together until Alice visibly deflates, one hand still clutching the edge of the curtain.

“You don’t like it,” she says, shifting her weight onto one foot as her posture slumps sideways.

“Quite the opposite” is all I manage.

She looks puzzled, so I clarify, “It’s perfect.”

“It is?” She glances down at herself before turning and looking in the full-length mirror on the back wall.

I step into the booth and look at her reflection. Somehow, it feels easier to speak this way.

“The gold brings out the blonde in your hair, and the band at the waist suits your figure beautifully.” I have to stop myself from lifting her hair to see what it looks like half up, the remaining waves of it cascading down her back.

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn gold before,” she says quietly.

“That’s because you’ve never been shopping with me,” I tell her.

“True,” she says before swirling around to face me. “Are you sure it looks okay? I don’t want to arrive looking like a fairy godmother.”

“Are you doubting my fashion sense?” I ask.

She regards me before answering. “No. I trust you.”

“Grand. You’ll need some heels.”

“I have some gold sandals I could wear. I bought them a few years ago to go with a black dress that had a gold belt, although I never ended up wearing them because the dress was more of a winter thing, and no one wants to wear sandals in winter.”

She stands on her tiptoes, lifting the dress from the floor, which makes her chest stand out more. Taking a deep breath, I try to avert my gaze, but Alice doesn’t seem to notice my wandering eyes as she studies the length of the dress before repeating, “Okay. I trust you. We’ll go with this one. But what suit are we going to get to go with this? Gold is a difficult colour to match. Black is the obvious choice, but it’s a summer wedding, and no one wears black to a summer wedding. I’m thinking navy blue or royal blue.”

Running my hand over my stubble, I take one last look at the dress.

“Not blue. Not black,” I tell her.

Then it hits me, and I’m not sure how I feel about it, but it’s too late. I can see it now, the picture already forming in my head, and it’s perfect.

“I know just the suit.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” I say, a buzzing feeling working its way through my body.

“Great. I’ll get changed.”