Page 22 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“If I had a body like yours,” Nancy says, moving to the side to have a better look at her profile, “my parents wouldn’t have had near the trouble marrying me off.”

“I’ve never worn leather pants before,” Camille admits, catching sight of herself in the large mirrors behind her. It shows off her curvy bottom while concealing the dimples covering her backside. Nancy seems to be examining the same area. The sales attendant sets the champagne bottle down to move around to Camille’s side.

“Stella knows what she’s doing,” the woman says, admiring the pants. “I’ll grab some more from her collection in the back.”

“How do you feel?” Nancy asks, moving around to face Camille.

“Honestly?” Camille turns, looking at herself in the mirror. Her hands slide down the sides of her hips. She has to admit, she looks great. She just doesn’t feel great. “I feel self-conscious, but I’ve never enjoyed shopping for clothes.”

Nancy nods. “It’s a torture we women put ourselves through.” She takes a deep breath, rounding her shoulders back as she drops her arms to her sides. “But I won’t steer you wrong. I’m honest, if not to a fault. I say we put this combo on the maybe hook.”

Her next outfit is already off the hangers when she walks back into the dressing room. “How much are the pants?” she asks the saleswoman as she shimmies out of the leather capris, trading them for a pair of long, deep purple pants with a ribbon tie around the waist.

“What, the trousers?” the attendant asks, looking at the pants Camille hands her. “Ferretti’s run around nine hundred.”

Camille is speechless. A thousand dollars for one item of clothing?

“You can put those back.”

The sales attendant nods as Camille steps into the next pair of pants, enjoying the soft feel of the fabric. Comfort is way more her style.

The saleswoman grabs the top for her while Camille pets the sides of her legs. “Aren’t those nice?” she smirks at Camille, “Those are from Ferretti’s silk-linen line.”

Camille’s face drops. “Let me guess, nine hundred for these too.”

“Those are three hundred, I believe.”

Camille nods, unsure how she feels about trying on clothes that she would need several paychecks to afford. “That’s…better.”

“You’re going to love this top,” the saleswoman assures her, showing Camille the shirt. “It’s perfect for this heat, and this diagonal take on a mandarin collar is one of my favorite looks this season.”

The white short-sleeve shirt is just like she promised: lightweight and cool. Looking in the mirror, she has to agree. The straight, diagonal cut collar jutting off to her right shoulder does look edgy enough that no one would guess just how comfortable it is. She walks out to Nancy.

“I really like this one,” she says, looking down at herself, “besides the length of the pants.” She kicks her foot, tossing the extra several inches of material hanging past her feet.

Nancy lifts her head from Camille to glance at the sales associate walking by holding another pair of pants. “Your seamstress is here today, correct?” Nancy asks.

“She is,” the woman confirms, looking past Camille at the other saleswoman. Camille’s attendant hurries to take the pants from her as she looks back at Nancy. “We can have it ready first thing tomorrow morning, or we can put a rush on it if you need it for tonight.”

“There you have it,” Nancy says, waving her arm for Camille to step up on the podium in front of the large mirrors, “you can have it for tonight if you need it.”

“What’s tonight?”

Nancy shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured since you got in late yesterday, they wouldn’t talk shop with you until sometime today.” She evens her gaze at Camille. “What did you think about Wade?”

Her question catches Camille off guard. “Oh! Um…he gave me a bit of a fright when he got in. He didn’t know that I was staying in the upstairs guesthouse, so he scared me when he popped in while I was getting ready for bed.”

“Really,” Nancy chuckles. “She put you in the guesthouse? She must be hoping Easton will stop by this weekend and wanted to keep you away from his antics.”

Camille smiles. “I have no clue, but Wade was pretty mad to find me in the guesthouse. He was convinced that Leah placed me there as a means of hooking us up.”

“With Wade?” Nancy frowns. “Oh please, that boy has never had any trouble finding women. Easton’s the one we have to worry about. He’ll date anyone with a…” she catches herself. “Anyways,” she tosses her hair out of her face, turning to the couch, “there are worse things than you and Wade. You’re definitely more his type if you ask me.” She takes a small sip of champagne.

“What type is that?” Camille asks, watching her.

“One who has a good head on her shoulders,” Nancy presses her lips together disapprovingly as she glances down at her champagne.

Camille tries to keep a pleasant look on her face, though she was secretly hoping Nancy would complement her body type over her brain type. Not that she’s surprised. What heir to a fortune would go for a normal, pear-shaped woman when he can get supermodels and human barbies to choose from?

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