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The more I think about it, the less sense I can make of it. When I emerge from the shower in a cloud of steam, I’m nearly convinced they have the wrong person. There’s been some kind of mix-up. All this glamour…it’s not for me. With my bathrobe wrapped around my body, I square my shoulders and step into the living room, determined to get to the bottom of it. They’ve got the wrong girl. This isn’t Bonnie’s surprise.
But as soon as I walk into the room, Viviane’s eyes are wide as she snaps orders at her team. She glances at me, waving me forward. “We got the time wrong. The car will be here in twenty-five minutes. You need tomove.”
“Wait—”
“Sit.” Viviane snaps her fingers to the director’s chair.
I try to shake my head. “There’s been a mistake.”
“Of course there’s been a mistake. We have to get you ready for this event in less than half an hour. Go, go,go!”
“No, I mean a mistake aboutme.”
“That’s not my problem.” Viviane grabs my elbow and drags me across the room. A hair dryer flicks on, and Erica appears in the mirror behind me. I try to say something, but the noise drowns me out. Erica won’t meet my eye. Where she was all easy smiles and friendliness before, now her face is a mask of grim determination.
Yasmin gets to work on my face, and I can’t speak as she tilts my head back and forth, ordering me to close my eyes, open my mouth, look up, look down. By the time she steps away from me and the hair dryer flicks off, I look like a different person. My eyes appear larger, somehow. Lips are glossy, skin airbrushed. My golden-brown hair is silky, falling in soft waves down to the center of my back.
Damn. I’d kill to be able to have a team like this around me full-time. I’ve never looked this good in my life.
“Up.” Viviane’s orders are clipped. She nods to Nathalie, who holds up a dress toward me. I’m only wearing underwear, no bra, but the ladies don’t seem to mind. Viviane just snaps her fingers to hurry me, checking her watch again.
With a deep breath, I drop my robe and step into the dress. Nathalie slips it over my shoulders and zips it up behind me, and I turn to look at myself in the mirror.
My eyes widen. “This is…obscene.” I run my hands down the front of the plunging neckline, where my boobs are on full display. And I meanfulldisplay. Two thin straps hold up silver, sequined fabric, the neckline diving between my breasts almost down to my navel. From solid to sheer, the fabric shimmers and shifts so I don’t know what’s skin and what’s actual fabric. It looks like water or ice or a million twinkling jewels. The dress hugs my waist and hips before flaring slightly over my legs. It fits like it was made for me—minus the chest area.
At least my nipples aren’t showing. Everything else is, though.
I frown as Viviane crosses her arms, then lifts one hand to pinch her chin between her thumb and forefinger. She tilts her head, staring at my chest. “Have you…” She cups her hands in front of her chest like she’s holding a couple of cantaloupes. “Have you had work done since we asked for your measurements?”
“Are you asking if I got a boob job?”
“We were told you were an A-cup.”
I just laugh, then look in the mirror again, shaking my head. “You definitely have the wrong person. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. There’s been a mix-up.”
Viviane opens her mouth, but her phone rings before she can say anything. She glances at the screen. “Car’s here.”
“Did you hear me? This isn’t my dress.”
“Of course it isn’t. We’ll be back to pick it up in the morning.”
“No, I—”
“We need togo.”
The other ladies have already packed up their gear.
Eyes wide, I slip on a pair of shoes that are thrust toward me—they fit, somehow. Maybe thiswasBonnie? How else would everything fit? And I usually wear things with no cleavage, so maybe she just got my bra size wrong.
I stare at myself once more in the mirror. A little thrill pierces my stomach as I glance at the plunging back of the dress, the way it hugs my curves so perfectly. I feel…pretty. Sexy. Beautiful.
Maybe it’s pure vanity that stops me from protesting anymore. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s my birthday, and I haven’t had anything to celebrate it in years. Maybe it’s just the no-nonsense look on Viviane’s face that makes me follow her out the door, accepting the matching clutch she gives me before thrusting my keys, wallet, and phone inside.
I glance at the phone’s screen while we ride the elevator down. Bonnie’s message settles my nerves:Hope you make the most of your present ;)
Heart thumping, I slip my phone into my clutch. She planned this. My best friend got me a ticket to the Manhattan Summer Ball.Me.
There’s a slight chill in the air that has goosebumps sweeping over my arms and shoulders. The driver, clad in a black uniform complete with matching hat, gives me a small bow as he holds the back door of the car open, and I slip inside. Viviane adjusts my dress once more, then nods, satisfied.
Mistake or not, I’m going to the Summer Ball.
* * *
