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Mom did that non-frowning thing she did. “You might need some tape.”
“It’s too tight, Mom.”
“So, perhaps a larger size.”
“But then the skirt will be too puffy. I’m already swimming in it.”
Mom started aggressively digging around in the crinoline underskirt. “Then we’ll have it altered…”
“This dress is all wrong for me.” Could she not see that? It was glamorous but so formal, and I felt awkward as hell in it. “Really, Mom. Am I attending Prince Charming’s ball or your fourth wedding?”
“You look like a princess!”
“I know. I’m not the princess type.”
“But you’re my daughter. I want you in something…extraordinaire.”
“All the other bridesmaids’ dresses are classy and understated. They’re grown-woman dresses. Why do I have to look like I’m stepping out at my sweet sixteen or something?”
“Well,” Mom said, still fussing with my skirts, “maybe if you’d actually had a sweet sixteen…”
Oh, Christ. The woman was still lamenting the fact that I’d never had the “proper introduction to society” that she’d dreamed of for me. The one where she got to trot me out in front of her wealthy friends and hook me up with one of their sons. “What is this, a Jane Austen novel?” I slapped her hands away lightly. “Notthis one.”
Mom made a little clucking noise as I stuffed myself back into the fitting room. I wrestled my way out of the dress, then pawed through the others, shoving aside anything with a crinoline, a train, or too many layers.
Finally, I found something. I pulled out a long, satiny sheath with spaghetti straps. Nowthatlooked like a grown woman’s dress. When I slid into it, it poured over my body like liquid silk. When I stepped out, Mom actually gasped a little.
I stepped up onto the platform and turned to look in the mirrors. “Now, this is a dress I could wear. I feel like a femme fatale.” I’d never actually worn anything so glamorous in my life, and I was loving it.
“Hmm. It’s very sexy, Jolie. Maybe… too sexy?”
“Are you kidding me? I saw what Aunt Madeleine is wearing. She’s a walking drink of wine in that fitted little velvet number.”
“But… that’s Madeleine. You know how she is,” Mom added in a hushed voice, as if her younger sister’s overt sex appeal was an affliction we should all speak sensitively about.
“So? Can’t I be sexy?”
She pursed her lips a little, and I knew she was fighting back the urge to sayNo, you cannot.“This dress is getting close, Jolie. But let’s just try on a few more.”
“Sure. Let’s.” I sighed and marched back into the fitting room. I’d promised myself that I would indulge her today. It washerwedding.
I pawed through the dresses some more, until I found another one I liked. The top was sheer lace with cap sleeves and the skirt was long and silky, flowing. I slipped into it and held it when I walked out so Mom could zip up the back for me. Once I’d stepped onto the platform and we both looked at me in the mirror, I was the one who gasped.
The lace of the sheer top covered my nipples but you could definitely see the shape of my breasts. It was so… flattering. I’d never seen my boobs look so good in any dress. I’d probably have to wear a silk cami under it for the wedding, though, becauseyikes.
I stuck out my leg. The long skirt had a slit all the way up the front of the left leg that was killer. This dress was to die for. Sexy, yet so classy.
“Mom. Please tell me this is the dress.”
“You look…incroyable,” she admitted.
“Was that a yes? If you don’t want it for your wedding, I’ll buy it anyway.” I was spinning back-and-forth, examining myself in the dress at every angle, and every angle was super flattering. “I’ll do laundry in it. I’ll freaking sleep in it.”
“It’s four thousand dollars,” Mom said dryly. “Do you have that kind of money to waste on a laundry dress?”
“I don’t care. I’ll sell my car. It’s about to die on me anyway.” Seriously, I’d consider homelessness for this dress. It didn’t even need jewelry or accessories. This dress alone was a total statement.
And the statement was:Eat your heart out, swamp troll.
