Page 50 of His Wicked Revenge

I’m not complaining about her pushing this on us because this is precisely the reason I befriended her in the first place. That thought has my stomach churning.

Yes, I used Chloe as a pawn in this game, but I have grown to tolerate her. She has become like a sister to me, which is weird because I’ve never felt this close to someone besides my actual sister.

If this all blows up in my face, I’d hate to lose this. Look at me—having a real friendship.

“Maybe.” I clear my throat, ready to say something else, until a worker finally greets us.

“Hello! I’m sorry for the wait.” She flashes apologetic eyes and then drops the volume of her voice. “We have a bride on the verge of a meltdown.”

I contain my eye roll as Chloe says, “Planning a wedding is stressful; I get it.”

The lady nods and then continues, “I’m Ava! What can I help you with today?”

“My friend here needs to be fitted for a bridesmaid dress, and I would love to try mine on.” Her hand falls to her stomach. “This little girl is growing faster than expected, so I’d like to ensure mine will still be good for the wedding.”

“Of course! Why don’t we start with your friend first?” Ava suggests. “She will be wearing the same color as the other girls?”

“Yes.” Chloe nods. “Just a different style. Whatever she is comfortable with.”

After multiple uncomfortable dresses, I am about to give up. I want to throw in the towel and tell Chloe that, as much as I appreciate the offer, I can’t be in the wedding.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I wear the deep red dress. The straps are too tight on my shoulder, and the fabric is so tight around my stomach that I’m having trouble breathing.

In the reflection, Ava pops her head in with a smile. “You ready to get out of that one?”

“Yes.” I sigh with relief. “I can’t breathe.”

She produces a little laugh, unzipping the back for me. “I have one more I think you’ll love.”

“That’s what you said about the last six.” I glare at her in the mirror. “I’m calling it quits.”

“Trust me on this one.” She smirks and then reaches past the curtain, separating my dressing room from the viewing area.

The fabric's color matches the dress I am wearing, but this material is satin. I step out of the dress, not caring if Ava sees me naked. I’m sure many women have stripped down in front of her.

She helps me step into it and leaves me to pull it up my body myself. The first dress, she attempted to help, but the touch of her hand on my skin made me flinch. No matter how many times Leo has had his hands on me or the countless hugs Chloe gives me, it seems that I still don’t particularly appreciate being touched. And since Ava saw the threat in my eyes, she hasn’t helped again.

Once the dress is draped over my body, Ava zips me up and looks at me in the mirror. Her eyes shine, and she can’t contain the smile spreading across her face. My gaze leaves hers to see what she is looking at, and once my eyes land on the dress, my jaw drops.

This dress hugs my body perfectly and isn’t too tight. Thankfully, I can breathe in it. The straps fall loosely over my shoulders, resting comfortably on the middle of my arm. Its neckline is straight, sitting right at the tops of my breasts, only showing a little cleavage.

I allow my eyes to scan down my body in awe. The dress appears to have shadows in spots where the material bunches together. It’s elegant, sultry, and stunning.

“Wow,” I whisper, not believing I could feel something like this for an article of clothing.

When I was younger, my mother dressed me nicely when we went to banquets and events. But I was a kid. Sure, I enjoyed dressing up for a while, not as much as my sister, but it was fun until it wasn’t. I felt like their little doll and came to hate the idea of wearing something nice.

This is the first time I’ve worn something this elegant, even since being locked up. And I don’t mind it.

“The color goes so well with your hair and skin tone,” Ava utters softly.

I glance at my hair, the brown showing more prominently than the blonde I had been dying it with. I should touch it up, but this brunette fighting its way to the surface makes me miss my natural hair.

Not only the color, but the curls as well. They were a part of me, and I badly wanted to figure out how to reverse the treatment the lady put on my hair. Letting the color grow out and getting my curls back is a risk, but is it a risk I’m willing to take?

“It’s perfect.” My voice remains low as I appreciate the dress some more.

“Why don’t we show the bride?”