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“Hmm,” I say. “The black one is the most formal, but I think you’ll be more comfortable in the green dress, so I’d go for that one.”
She holds the dress to her in front of the mirror and considers. “I think you may be right. Well, decision made. Thanks. How about you?”
“Unfortunately, my wardrobe is comprised mostly of formal dresses, a little like that black one over there.”
“Don’t you have a sexy little number that you wear when you want to go out and get lucky?”
I look at her perplexed. “Er, no. I’m not in the habit of going out to get lucky.”
“You’re divorced right?”
“Yes?”
“And have been for a while?”
“Yes again. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, you’re still relatively young and you’re definitely single, so why not?”
I shrug. “Slim pickings on Mars I guess.”
“Hmm. So you don’t have a single sexy, slinky dress that you would wear if you wanted to get someone’s attention?”
I think about it. “There is one dress that I wore once when I went out with my ex for our tenth anniversary dinner date. It’s quite revealing, which is probably why I thought to pack it after I heard about the Krovatian dress code. I haven’t worn it in years.”
She beams. “Come on, let’s see it.”
I hesitate, not yet ready for such level of camaraderie.
“Come on, Melinda.” She hurries out the door and walks towards my set of rooms.
I follow on her heels until we reach my door. She steps to one side and waits for me to open. I give a mental shrug and invite her in. As we walk inside, I see her look around my space just as curiously as I was eyeing hers a few minutes ago, but she doesn’t say anything or give me any fake compliments about the décor.
“So, where’s that dress?” she asks instead.
I sidestep her and head towards the large walk-in closet, rummaging on the hanging rack for the dress in question. Finally, I locate it and pull it out. It’s a low cut backless white dress with spaghetti straps in a soft satin fabric that falls to mid-thigh. At the front, there are two small pearl encrusted circular cut outs that cover my breasts and a sexy plunge of the fabric down the middle to reveal skin nearly to my belly button. It’s more adventurous than anything I’d ever worn before, but on the high of going together for our tenth anniversary piercings on our most private parts, it seemed like the right choice. I remember Wyatt’s reaction on seeing me in it. He growled and went all possessive caveman on me. The sex we had that night… one of the best.
I think back wistfully to that amazing night, and how I had no clue then that our marriage was nearly about to end. This dress holds so many memories. Probably why I’ve never worn it since. That and the risqué cut of the material.
“Holy moly!” Avery snatches it out of my hands. “Where did you get this amazing number? This is smoking!”
“I got it from a custom-made website called dress4you, do you know it?”
“No, but next time I’m home, I’ll definitely be checking it out!” She holds the dress up again and then hands it to me. “I want to see you in it. I think this will be just the right thing to wear for the banquet.”
I look at it doubtfully, but decide there’s no harm in trying it on just the once. I take it to the bathroom and quickly slip it on, adjusting the front so it clings to the small curves of my breasts. I check myself out in the bathroom mirror before going back out to Avery’s scrutiny. The dress shows off my light bronze skin, tanned to perfection this last summer, and my long, athletic legs. I twirl in front of the mirror and smirk. I look sexy and desirable—so not my usual look.
Back in my room, Avery takes one look at me in the dress and wolf whistles. “Wow, sexy lady! You are definitely wearing this. Please don’t say no!”
I smile. “I’m not going to.”
???
With Troy and Avery beside me, I enter the grand state room in the sector leader’s palace, where the banquet is to be held. With us are our fellow aliens on this diplomatic mission, the Venorians and Driskians.
I have been to the palace once before, when I came to be introduced to Denishar—and met the charismatic priest—but that time I was taken to his receiving rooms, not this grand chamber we are stepping into now. Typical of Krovatian architecture, the ceilings are high and vaulted, creating a feeling of great space. Large decorative lights glint along the walls, above which are those clever slats that allow a fresh breeze to flow through the room. Massive fans, like horizontal wind turbines, whirl silently above us. It’s warm, but pleasantly balmy rather than hot.
To one side, I see huge oval, low tables with flat, circular cushions on the floor to sit on. The tables are laid with beautifully decorated plates and glass goblets. On the other end of the chamber, a thrum of people stand in small groups, talking animatedly. On our entrance, the voices hush and eyes raise to study us curiously. Troy puts a comforting arm about my shoulders and Avery’s as we find ourselves the objects of everyone’s attention, and gives a reassuring squeeze. He’s conformed to the local dress code tonight, dressed in a fancy loin cloth that shimmers in the light, and he’s got temporary ink all over his upper body—beautiful decorative swirls and patterns which he got on a visit to a body art shop earlier this week. He looks hot and he knows it.
