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Looking down, I fiddle with the already perfect crease in my cuffed sleeve.
“If you’re content with it and comfortable, then we’ve found what we’re looking for. You’ll need a jacket to go with that. The weather, I mean. It’s still February. We’ll likely be outdoors for a small part of this.”
I want to punch myself in the face.
How am I tripping over my words like a boy with a prom date?
I stare at Elle, willing myself to look at her without falling to pieces. She’s smiling again, looking quite pleased with herself.
“You’re right,” she says, twisting to look down at her feet.
She really does resemble a wild modern bohemian flower child. I could picture her barefoot in this thing, racing through the grass, laughing as she takes long, leaping strides like she’s trying to fly.
Fuck me.
Maybe Aunt Clara isn’t the only one in the family with a dangerous imagination.
“Hmm,” Elle muses. “Maybe we’ll add some low slingback heels in a nice color. Nude pantyhose. It’s too cold to go bare.” She looks up at Angelique. I hadn’t even realized the woman was still hovering to assist, standing with her hands clasped together and looking far too pleased. “Do you sell that here?”
Angelique beams, sweeping a hand out. “If you’ll get changed, I can have my assistant package the dress and help you find everything you need. We can also schedule an appointment for tailoring to alter the fit.”
“Thanks.” Elle flashes her a sweet smile, then turns it on me. “Just give me a few minutes, okay? I’m not a fussy shopper. If it matches and it fits, I’m good.”
“Take your time,” I say, still dazed.
She only smiles wider, her eyes creasing into warm pools before she flits away inside the fitting room again.
Both shop assistants look far too smug. The shorter one with the happy face leans into me with a mock whisper too loud to be secretive.
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she says. “Seeing the woman you love treat herself? I’ve never seen a man look as smitten as you. Have you been together long?” She dimples at me.
I don’t answer.
“Congratulations on your engagement!” she gushes.
Shit, here we go.
But at least if we’re supposed to be believable, these people are eating it up.
I’m sure I do not look remotely smitten, though I keep that to myself and force a smile that feels like rusted gears grinding to a halt.
I also try not to be obvious about edging away, putting a few more precious inches of space between us.
“Thanks,” I manage.
Right before I’m saved by Elle, who apparently changes with lightning speed. She’s back in her eclectic outfit, punky and trendy and—if I’m being honest—it’s just as suited to her as the gravity-defying dress. She hands the dress over to the shorter assistant before raising a hand to me and joining Angelique.
“I’ll meet you at the register,” she calls out.
Then she’s gone.
The other assistant delicately folds the dress over her arm, beaming at me. “If you’ll follow me, please.”
I trail her to the register, trying to shake this unsettled feeling.
That feeling doesn’t ease up when Elle returns with Angelique, a shoebox, and something else that none of the women will let me see.
In fact, it only intensifies.
