Page 67 of Holiday Hostilities

All the newfound good sleep I’m getting is clearly making me more sociable.

In hindsight, though, this was probably not my smartest move. Because that’s how I’ve ended up in the middle of an upscale boutique, trying on dresses and modeling them for a room full of women, all intently watching me.

“Liv, that looks so good on you!” Maddie nods her approval as she takes in the long, sweeping midnight blue gown I’m wearing.

“I agree,” Lena adds in her soft, lilting voice.

Stefani flashes me a thumbs-up and Reagan snaps a picture, because according to her, everything needs to be documented on camera or “it might as well not have happened.”

This dress is not something I’d ever think of wearing. But when I arrived at Sofia’s place earlier, she took one look at the garment I was planning to wear—which was about five years old and probably more suited for a beach wedding than a winter wonderland black-tie extravaganza—and shook her head in a staunchno.

She immediately made an appointment to get me “gowned up” at a dress rental place she often works with, and her other guests decided to come along.

After this, we’re getting our hair and makeup done.

What is my life right now?

“Thanks, everyone.” I try not to balk under the attention as I turn my eyes back to the mirror.

I’m not going to lie. Standing here, on the dress shop podium thing, with all eyes on me as I squeeze into fancy dresses is a scene straight out of my nightmares.

Although, that being said, my nightmares have been somewhat… different the last few nights.

Ever since I moved into the Marino Mansion a few days back, I’ve startled awake every morning to the same pesky dream that leaves me very, very flustered and even more determined to lock down a new apartment, stat.

Sleeping just down the hall from Aaron is clearly messing with my mind.

Although he does make a much better roommate than I would have expected. And I have to admit I sometimes enjoy hanging out with him.

“Is thisthe one?” Reagan asks. It’s the third dress I’ve tried on—I was bursting out of the first one like a sausage escaping its casing, and the second one was about a foot too short.

This dress fits well, and it looks pretty good. “Sure,” I reply, very unsure.

Sofia stands in front of me, and she assesses my silhouette with her critical, fashion stylist’s eye.

“I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully, tapping her long fingernails against her thigh as she thinks. “Can you try on one more for me, Liv?”

I look around at the other girls for signs of boredom or frustration, but they all look pretty relaxed. Genuinely happy to be here, sipping champagne and watching Sofia dress me up like a life-size doll.

Sofia ushers me back into the changing room, helps me out of the blue dress, and then slips out to return a moment later with another garment, which she peeks around the curtain to hand to me. “Trythisone.”

“Red?” I squeak, staring at the crimson satin sheath on the hanger.

Black, white, beige, gray—those colors are comfortable, safe, neutral.

This dress already appears to beanythingbut those things.

“Just trust me.” Sofia winks, then ducks out.

After a moment of hesitation—during which time I consider pretending I somehow ingested an almond to get me out of this situation—I give it a go. The girls have been supremely supportive today. Even if this dress looks totally absurd on me, I have a feeling they’ll be nothing but sweet about it.

I lumber around the fitting room like a baby elephant as I attempt to pull on the slippery piece of material. But I’m surprised to find that, instead of being tight and making me feel lumpy, the fabric is smooth. So smooth, it almost feels like liquid cascading over my body. The zipper glides up my back without any help needed, and when I spin to look at myself in the mirror, my eyes widen in shock.

I would have never picked this dress for myself.

For one, as a redhead, I avoid wearing red like the plague. For two, it’s got a plunging neckline that is entirely out of my usual wheelhouse.

But it’s…perfect. The spaghetti straps are delicate and pretty, and the fabric flatters my body in a way I didn’t even know a dress could. The rich, vivid color is striking against my pale skin, and my copper waves complement rather than clash with the tone.

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