After squeezing myself into Jillian’s shaper shorts, I’m thrilled to discover that the dress fits like a glove. It’s like someone gave the designer my very average proportions and told them to go forth and make a viscose miracle. Anyone within a twenty-foot radius would have heard me squeal in delight as I tried it on, admiring myself in the mirror at every angle.
I smile and I realise that Will was right; I do get to be Prom Queen.
CHAPTER28
‘Nora. I’m begging you. Wear something else.’
I step aside as Will walks into the cabin, almost tripping over his own feet as he stares at Jillian’s dress.
‘You wear something else! I’m wearing this,’ I assert, smoothing it against my skin. I feel overdressed and downright fabulous. The side split shows just enough leg and the V-neckline gives me amazing cleavage.
‘I have to get through this evening without publicly humping you and that dress isn’t helping.’
‘I’m never taking this off,’ I tell him. ‘Ever. You’ll just have to deal with it.’
He unbuttons his jacket and sits on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck, while I turn around to slip on Meg’s shoes. I literally own no part of this outfit, except the earrings.
‘It’s even worse from behind,’ I hear him say. ‘Could you be any curvier? And what are those little sexy ankle, strappy heels… oh, come on; you’re killing me here.’
‘Die quickly then, I’m hungry,’ I reply, sitting to fasten my sandals. ‘You look great in that suit by the way. I didn’t know you’d brought one with you.’
‘Pah, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nora. I am a man of mystery and intrigue.’
‘I know you like red dresses.’
‘Not particularly,’ he responds. ‘I do like you in a red dress, however.’
‘Well, I like you in a black suit.’ I say, standing. ‘You look dignified… respectable.’
‘Respectable?’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘You sure about that?’
My mind flashes back to earlier at my kitchen table; him inside me, grabbing my hair at the base of my neck. ‘Point taken,’ I respond, my cheeks quickly turning the same shade as my dress. ‘I take it back.’
He smiles and fastens his jacket. ‘As much as I want to stay here, we should go. That dress deserves an audience.’
We arrive at the main house fifteen minutes later, having resisted the urge to repeat the kitchen table scene. Thankfully, we met up with Nish, Meg and Russell on the way there, which quashes anyoh, look, they arrived together againgossip before it can begin. My toes are frozen but damn, these shoes are pretty. Meg also wore red, but her dress is shorter and made from a handkerchief and some shoelaces. She really does have the most beautiful figure. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a smidgen of envy there, but even if I could drop fifty pounds, tan myself olive and grow six inches, I’d still just be a forty-year-old in a hanky. All the men are in suits, except for Brad. Brad has come as an honorary Scotsman in a kilt and the women are swooning in their Spanx.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the ballroom is now open.’
‘Think he’s gone traditional under that kilt?’ Will whispers as we make our way upstairs. ‘Not sure I want to see Brad’s wang when someone inevitably gets drunk and pulls it up.’
‘Kilt wheeching is inevitable,’ I reply. ‘And the fact you’re not entirely sure leads me to believe there’s a small part of you that wants to see his wang?’
‘If only to prove my Ken doll theory.’
We continue to the top of the stairs where two servers in bow ties stand at either side of the ballroom doors, holding trays of champagne flutes. The cost of this bootcamp is beginning to make sense.
The first thing I notice when we enter the ballroom is the gold. Everything is gold, from the intricate leafy designs on the high ceiling, to the cornice walls and even the chandelier. Combined with the soft glow from the candles, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful room. The next thing I notice is the dancefloor, slap bang in the middle of the room. My feet perk up. I haven’t hit a dancefloor properly since Faith dragged Victoria and me along to a wrap party in 2013, where she disappeared with some actor fromGame of Thronesand left us alone with a table full of white-powdered noses, all bragging about their various accolades. We ditched them and danced for three hours straight, while poor Faith ended up with a cold sore and stubble rash.
There are nine tables around the dancefloor, each place set with a name card and what looks like some kind of gift bag in the middle of each plate.
‘I bet there’s a cyanide pill in there,’ Will quips, looking for his name. ‘I’ll take yours if you don’t want it.’
For once, Will and I aren’t sitting directly beside each other, instead we’re sat at opposite ends of the table, joined by Meg, Jillian and Nish
I’m both annoyed and relieved because a) I won’t be able to feel him up under the table and b) I won’t be able to feel him up under the table. We take our seats and smirk at each other while Anna attempts to get everyone’s attention. She clinks her glass with a knife.
‘Well, don’t y’all clean up good!’ she declares from the top table. I like her strapless pink dress. She looks like she’s about to burst out of a cake. I want to open the little gift on my starter plate but no one else seems to be opening theirs. Do we need permission?
