Page 50 of Lease to Love

I turned toward the garment bag again.

What if it didn't fit?

Roman had never asked for my measurements. Not once. He hadn't asked my dress size, shoe size, bra size, preferred colors, nothing. He had just sent me a message saying a dress would be delivered and apparently expected me to trust that whatever some mystery stylist picked out would fit me.

What if it didn't?

What if it was too tight?

Or too loose?

What if the shoes were two sizes too big and I had to spend the entire night trying not to trip myself, wobbling around like Bambi on ice?

And what color had he picked? Some colors loved my skin. Some colors made me look washed out. Some made me look like somebody's favorite auntie at a church anniversary banquet.

And speaking of my skin...

I looked closer at my reflection.

My freckles.

Should I cover them?

The question made something twist low in my chest.

I loved my freckles. Always had. They dotted my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, a scatter of dark brown against warm skin that had always felt like one of those little details that made my face mine. People used to tell me they were the only way to tell Autumn and me apart. We looked enough alike that strangers had confused us plenty of times, but my freckles always gave me away.

Autumn used to say they made me look like I had been kissed by cinnamon.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Then the smile faded.

Because Ayo hated them.

Not at first… At first he'd just made little comments. Asked why I didn't wear more foundation. Suggested I "clean up" my makeup when we went places together. Then, eventually, he started saying it outright.

A freckle-faced chick would clash with “his aesthetic.”

His aesthetic.

I had actually listened to that shit.

My stupid, dickmatized ass had listened.

I started covering them.

Then I got good at it. So good that eventually I stopped noticing I was doing it.

I stared at myself in the mirror now, wondering when something as harmless as a few freckles had become a decision I needed to make before leaving the house.

And I hated that I was even asking myself the question because the answer should have been simple.

I liked my freckles.

Roman didn't matter.

The gala didn't matter.