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PAIGE
I walk out of the closet and twirl for Cyrille. “What do you think of this one?”
I’ve tried on so many dresses that they are starting to blur together. Truth be told, I’m not even totally confident that I haven’t tested this one out already.
Cyrille looks up from her book and offers a thin, tired smile. “Pretty.”
I turn to the full-length mirror and catch a glimpse of Ilya spread out on the carpet behind me. He’s working on a model warship and hasn’t offered his opinion on a dress in over half an hour. He gave up after dress two, poor kid.
The dress is white and floaty, but the bodice is clingy. It makes my bump look huge. I feel like a yeti.
“I have to look perfect for this dinner, Cyrille. I need to look like I belong by his side.”
Cyrille nods and squints, studying me. “Okay. Okay… I think I know what dress you need to wear for this dinner.”
She disappears into the closet, and I wait while she rustles around, sliding hangers and tossing a pile of discarded dresses through the doorway and onto the carpet. Finally, she reappears holding a shimmering gown with a tight corset top and a sculptured balloon skirt.
“That’s for me?” I clarify.
“Who else would it be for?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe someone who isn’t pregnant with twins!” I lay a hand on her shoulder. “Cy, I love you, but there’s no way I can wear that.”
She brushes off my hand and moves around, holding the dress in front of me in the mirror. “Look. It’s a short corset that ends right above your stomach. And the skirt is big enough to hide your bump. You can totally pull this off! Especially since you haven’t gained weight anywhere else. Have I mentioned how annoying that is, by the way? How much I hate you for it?”
I take the dress and give it a once-over. “I don’t know…”
“Just try it on and see,” Cyrille encourages. “It can’t hurt.”
There’s no reason not to at this point. I’ve tried on every other dress I own; this is kind of my last resort.
I walk the dress back into the closet and admire the shimmering fabric. The color shifts from jade green to gold and ends in burgundy around the hem. It reminds me of a mermaid tail.
I step into the dress, expecting it to make me look as large as I feel. But somehow, the voluminous skirt doesn’t make me look bloated; it makes me look powerful. It’s eye-catching in all the right ways.
“Well? How’s it going in there?” Cyrille asks impatiently.
“Get in here.”
The doors slide open and Cyrille takes one look at me and claps her hands together. “What did I tell you?”
“It’s amazing,” I admit. “You were right.” I twist around and show her the zipper. “I couldn’t quite get this all the way up, though.”
Cyrille rubs her hands together, determination in her eyes. “Lemme at her.”
She pulls a few times, but the zipper doesn’t budge past my low back.
“Okay, so it’s a little small,” she concedes. “But no worries—my seamstress can let it out a few inches and we’re good to go. I’ll take it with me today and have it back to you on the day of the dinner.”
“Are you sure? I could always wear something else instead…” I look hopelessly at the multi-colored carnage of my closet.
“What were you planning to wear?” she challenges. “Because it wasn’t anything I saw today. It was all awful.”
“Hey! You said they were all nice!”
“Only because I didn’t think you had any other options,” she laughs. I swat at her arm, and she dodges me.
We laugh, and I reach for her again—this time, to pull her in for a hug. “You’re the best, you know.”
