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Marco walks around me in a circle, eying me up and down. He brings both hands to my body and wraps his hands around my waist. “Great proportions,” he says. “Boobs are a bit small, darling, but I have this amazing pushup bra; we can fake some extra cleavage.”
“Uh,” I say. The words themselves sound rude, but he says them in such a friendly tone with a wide smile. I don’t think he actually meant for any of it to be rude.
“Why don’t you look at what we’ve brought and tell me what catches your eye. We can go from there,” Marco says.
“Sure...” I scan the pieces slowly and frown. None of it looks like me. These evening dresses are exquisite, feminine, and eye-catching, but none fit my personality. I don’t know how to say that nicely.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Marco asks.
“I’m not sure anything here screams ‘me.’”
“Nonsense,” he says. “You will bring him to his knees in any of these dresses.”
Kikki giggles. “I think she has already brought him to his knees,” she says.
I join in with her laughter. I think she understands what I mean.
“How about this one,” she says, pulling out a metallic gold mini dress. It is stunning and has a revealing plunging back.
“Um...” I stammer.
Kikki keeps talking. “I could slick your bob back into a wet-hair look. We can get you a gentle spray tan and give your skin a glowy look—”
“A golden goddess,” Marco says and clasps his hands in front of his chest in delight.
“Absolutely not,” I say. Nothing could sound more unlike me than what they have in mind. Marco frowns. “I feel my sexiest with my bob straight,” I clarify.
“Okay, that’s good,” Kikki says. “You know what you feel stunning in—”
“I do. And I’m sorry. I know you’re just doing your jobs, but none of these things would help me feel comfortable, let alone sexy.”
Marco’s mouth drops slightly, and I feel a bit sorry at the distress plain on his face.
“Look. Why don’t I show you what I brought, and you can see if there’s any potential there?” I offer.
“All right,” he says, but he is clearly annoyed.
I pull out the contents of my suitcase and splay them over the bed. My body-hugging little black dress is my favorite thing I’ve brought and what I had planned on wearing if we went out on a date. I also have a black leather, high-waisted mini skirt that is another one of my favorite pieces.
“I was thinking the dress,” I say.
“That’s a lot of black,” Marco says. “It’s not a funeral.”
I chuckle. “I own other colors, but I went monochromatic for packing purposes.”
“The dress is too . . . blah,” he says.
“Blah?”
“Yes. Blah.” He picks up the leather mini and holds it up to examine it. “This has potential.Ifwe style it right.” He walks over to the clothes rack, my skirt still in his hands, and he produces a black, button-up, long-sleeve blouse that is entirely sheer. “I’m not a big fan of black on black, but if you can wear a deep red or burgundy lace bra underneath it, it would break up the boring palette with a pop of color.”
I rush to my suitcase again and pull out a crimson lace bra I thankfully packed. “Will this work?” I ask him, holding the garment like a surrender flag above me.
“Perfect!” he says. Try it on. “Kikki, you run to the car and get the black, strappy, heels. The Tom Ford sky-high ones, you know, with the gold heels.”
“I think I need to take a quick shower before trying it on,” I say, as I excuse myself for the restroom.
When I come out of my shower, Marco takes a seat on a chair in the room while Kikki sets up her makeup kit, and I start changing. I spin around when I am done.
