Page 32 of Fake It For Glory

MERIDA

Shopping with Hattie was an adventure I wasn’t sure I was prepared to handle. I felt like I was caught up in a tornado. The woman was crazy.

She was a total heathen in the first boutique we went to, pulling out clothes, shoes, and accessories like there was no tomorrow. I felt horrible for the mess she was making. I was doing all I could to run behind her and hang things up and put things back, but it was no use.

As we strolled through the racks of designer clothes, I couldn’t help but feel out of place in most of the outfits she picked out. I was more of a jeans-and-tee kind of girl, and the high-fashion world was a foreign land to me. She could look at a dress and immediately know the designer. I didn’t even know the designers she was talking about.

I did not fit into the billionaire crowd. My parents lived comfortable lives, but this was a whole new level of luxury. I wasn’t sure she knew who she was shopping for. The dresses and pants she pulled from the racks were things models would wear, not a woman of my size. I found myself walking through one high-end store with several hangers around my neck. I felt ridiculous. Every once in a while, Hattie would stop, look me up and down, and add another hanger to my neck.

“I like you in red,” she declared.

“I don’t really wear red,” I replied.

“You should. You will. Black is fine, but you need color. Green is another beautiful color on you. I like white, too.”

I didn’t know what she saw but I supposed I had to trust her. She was a beautiful woman and her style was classy and fun at the same time. Maybe that’s what I needed—a stylist. I thought I was dressing for my body style, but maybe I was doing it wrong. I didn’t like shopping. It was always so depressing to go into a store and see the little mannequins all dressed and cute and then I tried on the outfit and looked like a potato. I shopped online. I went with what I knew and rarely tried anything different. It was too disappointing to get my hopes up for a new style only to discover it looked horrible on me.

Hattie, on the other hand, reveled in it. She spun around, holding up a daring red dress. “Oh, Merida, you have to try this on! It’s so sexy.”

Sexy. I couldn’t remember the last time I used that word to describe myself. “I don’t know,” I hesitated. “It looks a little small.”

“It’s supposed to be,” she said, laughing. “Trust me, you’re going to look hot.”

I didn’t think so, but I took the dress and headed to the fitting room. Hopefully, once she saw just how ridiculous I looked in the get-up, she would understand why I chose the clothes I did. Then, we could get this shopping spree over and done with. I was already exhausted and ready to go home to my quiet townhouse.

I slipped into the dress, adjusting it in front of the mirror, and stepped out. I didn’t even bother looking at my reflection in the mirror. I was sure my hips looked as wide as they felt and my boobs were barely contained by the fabric pulled tight. One sneeze and there would be a disaster.

Hattie’s eyes practically sparkled with her face lighting up. “You look absolutely stunning, Merida. Seriously, this dress was made for you. I knew it. I have an eye for this kind of thing. It has not failed me yet.”

I gathered the courage to turn around and face the three mirrors positioned in a semi-circle in front of me. I actually had to look over my shoulder to see if there was someone behind me. I looked back at my reflection and realized it was really me. How in the world did I look this good? I turned this way and that, studying my reflection from every angle. It was hard not to feel a boost of confidence as I saw myself in a way I rarely did.

Maybe Hattie was onto something, pulling me out of my comfort zone and helping me see myself in a different light.

“What do you think?” Hattie asked as she stood beside me.

“I think I’ve never worn anything like this,” I replied. “I would have never picked this for myself. Ever.”

“That’s because, like most women, you are dressing to hide your perceived flaws instead of dressing to show off your beautiful body,” she said. “Sometimes, you need an outside pair of eyes to see what you can’t.”

“Thank you,” I said with a heartfelt smile. It meant a lot to have a stranger tell me I was beautiful.

“You’re welcome, now get back in there. We’ve just gotten started!”

We continued our shopping spree, and as Hattie took over yet another boutique, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for her enthusiasm. She might have been a heathen in the stores, but she had a knack for making me feel beautiful, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew what she wanted and she was spending an obscene amount of money, so I supposed that bought her a little forgiveness from the salespeople.

As Hattie and I sifted through racks of clothing, my curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn’t resist asking the question that had been on my mind after the incident at Jensen’s office.

“Hattie, what’s your brother’s deal?” I asked somewhat tentatively. It was clear Hattie and Jensen were close, but they were so different. Hattie had to see her brother’s character flaws. “Why is he such a jackass? No offense.”

Hattie let out a light giggle, and her smile was as warm as ever. “None taken, Merida. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times.”

She paused, her fingers running through the fabric of a blouse she’d picked up. “Jensen is a complicated enigma. He’s not easy to get to know, but once he lets his walls down, he’s a pretty decent guy. He just happens to carry a very large chip on his shoulder.”

I nodded, understanding that there was more to Jensen than met the eye. “What’s with the chip, then?”

Hattie sighed, her expression thoughtful. “It’s a long story, really. He’s been through a lot, faced his fair share of challenges and disappointments. It’s made him guarded, and sometimes that comes off as being a bit… prickly. He sets such a high standard for himself. Failure is not an option. He refuses to accept mistakes as mistakes. To him, a mistake is one of the worst sins a person can commit. He demands excellence. Period. He hates when he fails to do what he set out to do.”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Jensen, even though I’d often been on the receiving end of his sharp words. “Basically, I shouldn’t take anything he says personally? I don’t know how to deal with him.”