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Chapter Seventeen
Josephine & Maceo
Josephine
“All clear,” Tiny Tony says in a deep voice after he checks out the dressing room, now allowing me to enter.
The sales clerk is more than a little uncomfortable having him back in her shop after the last time he visited. I can’t blame her. She goes to hang the dresses in the changing room and shivers when she passes by his massive body.
Tiny Tony is definitely a joke of a name. He’s the largest man I’ve met, even bigger than Maceo, which is saying something. How he’s able to move stealthily with his bulky frame is a paradox I haven’t figured out yet.
“Thanks, Tony,” I say, entering the dressing room. He seems to soften when I address him like this. I’m guessing he doesn’t like the oxymoron name his mafia family gave him. He smiles and closes the door so I may undress.
The bridal boutique is completely empty at this time, aside from the clerk, Tiny Tony, and myself. Probably because it’s the middle of the day on a Wednesday—no one’s around. It’s kind of nice to have the whole space to myself. As soon as I walked in the door, I had a glass of champagne in my hand and all the attention of the sales clerk. But I don’t want to dawdle with Maceo waiting outside. I’m as eager to be back with him as he is with me.
Nervous and excited all at once, I can’t wait to try on my dream dress. I step into it and zip it up as far as I can. I exit the dressing room and climb on the step stool in front of the mirrors.
Tiny Tom steps forward and zips me the rest of the way before I appraise myself in the full-length mirrors.
“You look stunning!” the clerk gushes.
“Beautiful,” Tiny Tony agrees.
“Thank you, both of you.” I smile at my reflection.
There are a lot of women who have been dreaming about their wedding dresses their entire life, but I’m not one of them. I had no clue what I liked and didn’t like till I started shopping with Opal. I definitely wasn’t a princess-dress kind of girl, nor was I into heavy beading or tulle on any level.
The dress I picked is a swag-sleeved trumpet dress with layered lace appliqués and a sweetheart neckline. The lace is ivory on top with champagne underneath, and it’s formfitting, hugging my bottom, but the goblet skirt and chapel train definitely make it feel less restrictive. I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world standing here.
“I’m glad we ordered you the size two instead of the size zero. Your lovely backside wouldn’t have fit in it,” the clerk says, admiring me.
Excuse me?I put my hands on my hips. “Is that a nice way of saying I have a fat ass?”
Tiny Tony lets out a thunderous laugh. The clerk looks mortified.
She’s quick to apologize. “Oh my goodness, no, Miss Holland, I certainly didn’t mean to insult.”
Tiny Tony is still laughing. “She’s saying you got the goods in the back. A size zero is for someone who has no ass at all. You got a bottom most women would kill for. Work that shit.”
“Well, okay then!” I say, feeling better with the explanation. “This is the one!”
The clerk claps her hands together excitedly, probably because she made a huge commission. Tony helps me down from the stool, unzips me, and opens the dressing room door before closing it behind me. I step out of the gown and put it back on the hanger with a huge smile before handing it off to the sales clerk. She scurries away to the back room to put it in a garment bag.
With a sigh, I slip the other dress over my head. It’s not like I don’t like the fake dress—I do, but it reminds me of what will be a very tension-filled day with Jacob on the prowl.
This dress is more of an A-line, straight-across neck, knee-length white wedding dress with lace. It’s simple and elegant and, above all, it’s cheap. My hands spread down the fabric and stop at the waist when I feel a fold in the material.
No way! Pockets! How did I not notice this before?
I must be making a lot of excited noises because Tony starts chuckling. “What are you squealing about in there?”
“Pockets, Tony! My dress has pockets and it’s lovely.”
“If you say so,” he murmurs.
Clearly Tony is not convinced and I need to defend my stance. “Imagine if you had to wear dress slacks without pockets.”
Tony is silent for a moment before answering. “That would be fucking horrible.”
