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“I brought a bunch of different colors, as you can see.” She pulls the rack closer and starts going through each of the dresses. “Honestly, my favorites are these two, but of course, you’re wearing it, so please try on whichever you like!”
She holds up a bordeaux-red halter top gown with a front dip down to what I assume will be my belly button. Although the dress looks stunning, the royal-blue backless gown she holds in her other hand catches my eye immediately.
“The blue one, the blue one!” I clap my hands in excitement at the princess treatment I’m getting. “I’m sorry. I’m so giddy.”
“Oh my God, please don’t apologize!” Natalie waves me off. “I’m thrilled you like this dress, and I can’t wait to see you in it.” She hands it to me, but not before ripping off the price tag, which I’m more than thankful for. I can only imagine what this dress costs. If I knew, I might not even put it on.
I carefully drape it over my arm and take it into the bathroom, where I try it on. It’s backless, so there’s no way I can wear a bra. Luckily, my B-cup boobs don’t need a lot of support.
The dress fits perfectly, almost like it was made for my body. I run my palms down the silky, smooth material as I turn around to look into the full-length mirror.
Christ. This dress is everything. It’s perfect, and I never want to take it off.
“Is it on? Can I come in?” Natalie’s getting antsy in front of the door. Her excitement radiates through the walls.
“Yes, come in!” The words have barely left my mouth when the door bursts open, and Natalie scurries into the bathroom.
“I fucking knew it! I knew this was going to be it. I only held up the red one to give you a choice, but really, I knew this was the one.”
I laugh, wondering why she brought a whole rack if she knew I was going to choose this one.
“Were you a stylist before you took the job here?” I imagine Natalie making a killing picking out dresses for clueless girls like me.
“No, I worked for the CIA,” she says nonchalantly. For a moment, I think she must be joking, but when I notice her serious expression, I know it’s true.
Damn, is everyone around here a certified badass?
I’m just about to ask her what I should do with my hair and makeup when a knock on the door echoes through the suite.
“Here comes the pampering team,” Natalie announces, before she spins around and heads to the door.
I carefully follow her into the living room, making sure not to step on the hem of the dress. I take a seat on one of the armchairs and watch two women carrying caddies filled with beauty products enter the space.
After a quick consultation, they waste no time getting me ready. One of them starts on my nails, filing them and applying gel nail polish, while the second one starts on my hair, curling up each strand before pinning them up in an artful manner at the top of my head.
Natalie disappears for twenty minutes, only to reappear, holding a black velvet box in her hand.
“No.” I shake my head, making Natalie giggle in glee.
“Yes,” she disagrees. “You can’t wear a dress like this without any jewelry.”
“Nat!” I groan. “I can’t ever make all of this up to you.”
“Good thing no one is asking you to. Now hush, and let me put these earrings on you.”
I don’t fight her on it, knowing she won’t take no for an answer anyway. After she fastens the hooks in my ear, she holds up a hand mirror for me to see.
“Nat…” I take in the beautiful silver teardrop earrings, each of them holding a small sparkly diamond in its center. “Please tell me these are not real.”
“These are not real,” she repeats in a robotic voice. I look at her face and see her forced, awkward smile. She’s lying.
“Is that true, or are you just saying that because I asked you to?”
A smile remains plastered on Natalie’s face. “Is that my phone ringing?” She looks away, pretending to look for her iPhone that’s definitely not ringing.
I sigh, deciding to take Jase’s advice and just enjoy the moment. Putting down the mirror, I close my eyes and let my pamper squad finish my hair and makeup without complaining. Natalie brings me some shoes to try on, and together, we decide on silver pumps with crisscross straps around the ankles.
“Mason is on his way to pick you up,” Natalie announces. “Perfect timing. Cinderella, you are done!”
A mixture of anxiety and excitement swirls around my stomach as I rise from my chair and carefully walk toward the hallway mirror. Part of me is afraid I won’t like what I see, while the other, more prominent part, thinks I’ll love this too much.
