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“Let’s see it,” Charlie says. And then, maybe hearing how demanding that sounded, he clears his throat. “Or… Could I suggest that one?”
“Fine,” I huff. “But you can dial it down, Richard Gere.”
He grins. “Humor me, Sommerville.”
He keeps chatting with Maya while I duck behind the curtain to finagle the dress. It’s a wrap gown, tied at the waist, and the sleeves sit almost off my shoulders. The neckline dips low, but I’m relatively secure in a bra contraption from the lingerie department. The high slit—and tall heels Maya pulled for me—make my legs look longer. And I have to admit: The rose gold is perfect with my coloring.
I’m also glittering like a damn chandelier. You couldn’t miss me in a crowd. In fact, you’d probably use me as a landmark to guide ships in from sea.
I push the curtain back, and the conversation stops mid-sentence.
They both stare at me, and Maya says, “Um,hello, femme fatale.”
“Wow.” Charlie’s blinking, his face fallen in surprise. His gaze goes all the way down my body and back up. “That’s—good. On you.”
For a moment, I panic that he’s struggling to find something nice to say. But no. I think Charlie Fox might be properly gobsmacked, here in the Bergdorf dressing room.
Behind him, Maya gives me a thumbs up, looking smug.
I turn in the mirror. “I don’t look like a holiday ornament?”
“Erm, no,” he says, clearing his throat. “I mean… Maybe. But in a good way?”
Possibly, Charlie Fox is imagining me topping his tree. A girl can hope.
“I don’t know…” I say, hands skimming the neckline. “Is it too low?”
“It’s sexy but tasteful!” Maya says
. “You’re getting it.”
“Well…” I take a deep breath. “OK then.”
Maya deals with all the labels, and the rest of the rack. “I’ll have these delivered, along with your clothes from today,” she says, “And the alterations will be done within the week. Oh, and this is for you,” she adds, handing me a couple of small packages of fashion-tape. “Extra-strong, in case of wardrobe emergencies.”
“Thanks for everything, Maya. I owe you.”
“Iowe you,” Charlie tells her.
“It’s on your card.” Maya says, winking at him. “But for the red dress, once it’s altered? Yeah, you might owe me.”
“Oh?” He gives me a wolfish grin. “I’ll look forward to that one.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, cheeks warm.
But when he offers his arm, and I take it without hesitation. Because this next wedding? I’m ready.
And in this dress, I don’t have a choice.
7
GRACE
The American Wingof the Met is surreally beautiful. Above us, a glass grid of windows reflects soft lighting. Long banquet tables are arranged between sculptures, with towering floral arrangements. In the center, a golden Diana pulls back her bow.
“You notice that most of these are tragedies?” Charlie asks, gesturing toward Medea. “Seems like a strange place to declare eternal love. Like, you can’t really know who Diana’s hunting, right?”
“Oh myGod, Charlie.” I bat his arm. There’s dodging commitment, and then there’s full-on phobia. “Who hurt you?”
