“I’m going for a dozen. They’re like trophies.”
“Stop making me laugh, I’m wallowing.”
He chuckles, making my cheek bounce against his chest. “Come on, let’s fix this.”
We walk into the bathroom, and I look at the damage in the mirror. Other than being a little blotchy, my makeup is mostly intact.
“See, it’s not that bad. Just a little touch-up around the eyes and you’ll be fine,” he says, standing behind me in the mirror.
“What about my hair?”
“You should wear it down.”
“I should?”
“Yeah. I love it down.”
He does?
I’m still a bit overwhelmed when he starts taking my hair down. And then he’s combing it out with his fingers and rubbing his fingertips against my scalp in little circles as he does it.
I close my eyes and exhale and my little ball of anxiety unravels and dissolves away just like that.
Then he dries my eyes with a tissue, dabbing so delicately I still can’t figure out what I did to deserve him.
“Thank you,” I say. “I feel better now.”
“Good.” He smiles his lopsided grin, and everything feels right.
I touch up my makeup and put a little product in my hair to keep the curls smooth then go out to the room to change while Wood showers.
The beads are mesmerizing in the sunlight as I take the dress out and hold it up against me. I put it on with a little effort—it’s a column dress and quite tight around the torso and hips, then goes straight down to the floor with a slit along the right leg that’s not too high.
It fits perfectly.
The tag is hanging off the side—one of those that’s thick and embossed with a fancy ribbon instead of one of those plastic fasteners. I make the mistake of flipping it over and I see the price.
My jaw drops. Not figuratively. This dress costs as much as six month’s worth of rent. And rent in Seattle is not cheap.
Maybe I should tell Wood I can’t accept this. It’s way too much.
But then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
The dress really does hug and accentuate every curve. Like it was made for me. Even my small chest is held perfectly in place with just the right amount of cleavage to be sexy yet sophisticated.
My hair looks nice down around my bare shoulders and I look…beautiful.
I’ve looked in the mirror and thought I looked nice, sure. Cute. Pretty, even. But never have I felt like this.
A little whoosh comes from the doorway and out of the corner of my eye there’s a flash of white. I turn to see a white envelope come flying under the door and landing several feet onto the ornate rug.
My name is written in blocky letters across the front. I pick it up just as the bathroom door opens.
I hastily stuff the envelope behind a clock on the dresser and turn with a smile as Wood comes out.
He’s dressed in a fitted black tux with a white shirt, white bow tie, and black leather dress shoes. My mouth is dry. He looks so handsome and put together and every bit like a man who can afford the dress I’m wearing.
“Wow, you clean up nice.”