Page 88 of The Has-Been

“Yep—that’s it,” she says, satisfied.

Then it’s Reese’s turn.

“Come out!” June encourages, far too loud for the small shop—but that’s just how she is.

“Umm—I’m not so sure about this,” Reese scolds as she peers through the dressing-room door. When she finally steps out, our jaws hit the floor.

It seems Cynthia had a mind of her own this year, because she went all out. The dress hugs Reese like a glove.

Reese’s arms curl over herself. “Cynthia, it’s beautiful,” she says—careful, because I know she hates hurting people’s feelings—before adding, “but this shows everything. And not in a good way.”

Cynthia looks wide-eyed at June.

June looks away, and I know immediately she’s done something.

“Spill it,” I grit, shooting invisible daggers at June.

June frowns. “Okay, so maybe I called and told Cynthia that Reese wanted something a little more…sexy…this year.”

“JUNE!” we all exclaim.

June lifts her hands in surrender. “You are seriously hot, Reese. It’s time you freaking own it.”

“I can’t—no, I won’t wear this! I invited Reid! He’ll be fucking mortified to be seen with me.” She runs her hands over her ponytail.

Cynthia excuses herself, leaving us to hash it out.

Rory, of course, doesn’t help. “Yeah, he’s gonna be mortified that a fucking knock-out won’t give him the time of day. How embarrassing for him.”

“Rory!” I scold her for her foul mouth.

Reese’s face goes red as she turns to the mirror, finally dropping her arms so we can see the full design. The back is completely open, the red silk cutting impossibly low, nearly exposing everything. She spins, the front dipping forward, and she quickly covers herself.

“What kind of bra do you even wear with this?” she asks, running a hand over the front.

June is smiling like a Cheshire cat behind her.

“Oh, no,” Cynthia declares, returning. “Absolutely not. No bra, honey.” The elderly woman winks and gives June a thumbs-up.

“I fucking love you, Cynthia,” Rory says, grinning.

Reese spins around, admiring herself in the mirror. Her fingers trace her collarbone as she takes a deep breath. She shrugs, cheeks burning scarlet. “I mean…the girls do look good.”

“Exactly!” June and Rory screech at the same time.

After it seems we’ve finally convinced Reese to wear the dress, it’s my turn to step into the booth.

June calls out, “So…”

June Vaughn clearly made more than one phone call to Cynthia.

I run my fingers over the delicate fabric. It’s stunning—one of the finest dresses Cynthia has ever made for me. I can tell that much just from the hanger.

It takes Cynthia nearly ten minutes to secure it over me. The black dress boasts cap sleeves, a see-through bodice that narrows and accentuates my waist. The back is a corset, pushing and pressing my breasts up near my damn chin, which is impressive since I’m barely a B-cup.

When I step out, Rory high-fives June before passing out the champagne flutes to celebrate.

My eyes find the mirror, and I can’t help but smile. The dress is gorgeous.