Page 69 of All Saints: Pledge

“No tape!” I wince, viscerally remember how hard it was to peel duct tape off my chest. Which, of course, sends me right back to that mechanical closet with Kendall…his hands down my dress.

“Are you okay?” Clara’s eyes are wide with alarm.

I’ve started to hyperventilate. “Yeah, fine,” I manage. “Just sort of having a small panic attack.”

She eyes me skeptically. “About tape?”

There’s a knock at the door, and I excuse myself from the bathroom. Pulling open the door open reveals Augustine, dressed in a tuxedo. He’s holding a large leather bag with a handle over his arm, and a small black velvet case in his hand.

He gives me a cursory glance, and his eyebrows knit. “I believe you have your dress on backward,” he says and pushes his way into my room without asking.

I look down. “What?”

“The piece you’re wearing. It has a long chain in the back. This dress looks hideous, but I think it’s only because it’s backward. Aoife!” He yells over his shoulder, and I jump a mile in the air.

Within a moment, Aoife appears, red faced and breathing hard from running up the stairs. “Yes, how can I help?”

“Help her turn her dress around while I get this piece out. I’m on a schedule.” He gives me a pointed look like this is completely my fault.

“I didn’t know. This looks just like Clara’s dress?”

I expect Augustine to leave, or turn his back, but it’s evident he doesn’t have time for courtesy. My cheeks heat as I slip my arms free of the slinky straps. Zero way I’m fully undressing.

Aoife understands and grabs the front of the dress to spin it as I raise my arms and hold my hair up. There’s a little slippage, but nothingtoomortifying. I peek over my shoulder and see Augustine watching me intently. He definitely saw some sideboob, but seems focused on the fit of the dress. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll reflect badly on the organization. Maybe an ill-fitting dress isjustthe sort of thing Kendall would do to have me thrown out.

“Ah,” he purrs as Aoife steps away. “Perfection.”

All I know is that suddenly I’m cold. Instead of a weird gather of fabric draping down my front, the neck is high; right across my collar bones. My back however? My back feels naked. I pivot to look in the mirror and gasp. Instead of frumpy and terrible, I’ve been transformed. The dress is chic and elegant in the front. My flat chest doesn’t even matter because the back drapes dramatically from the tops of my shoulder to just above my ass, a la Kate Hudson in How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days.

“You are exquisite,” Augustine says, catching my eye in the mirror. He doesn’t give me a chance to even stammer in response, he motions for me to turn around again. I hesitate, and something I recognize from Kendall’s face races across Augustine’s. Impatience. The “how dare someone not jump to do my bidding,” is apparently something inherited. I turn, presenting my back to him.

“Good girl,” he says, stepping forward and threading a hand around my shoulders. It’s a necklace. A sparkly one.

I pull my hair up, and wait as he places something heavy around my neck. I shiver in response as something cold and icy spills down my back, swinging from the necklace.

“There.”

I turn and he admires his work for a moment before nodding at Aoife. Without another word, he walks back through my door, Aoife trailing behind.

“It’s stunning,” she offers over her shoulder. “Really.”

I face the mirror again, holding my hair up in various positions. I settle on a simple French twist. Something that leaves my neck bare to showcase the delicate diamond band running across my throat. It’s elegant, andheavy. Three layers,almost an inch thick, straight and clean sparkling diamonds. Unimaginable wealth.

I touch the cool stones, then pivot to look at the back. A delicate chain swings against the fabric of my dress, settling into the curve of my lower back. At the end of the chain hangs a single, shining blood red ruby the size of a walnut. Nestled against my fair skin, it looks like a splash of blood—shocking, bordering on tawdry but ultimately fascinating to the gaze. I watch it swing, hypnotized by the feel and weight of my very own pendulum.

“Oh myGod, is that a ruby?” Clara’s voice comes from the door to the shared bath. She’s standing in my doorway, staring at my back.

I blink up at her. “Is that atiara?” I ask back. Because where I’m elegantly, but subtly, dressed…Clara isiced. A cupcake with frosting. Everywhere. Two huge gold and emerald bangles grace her left wrist. A large, ornate emerald and diamond necklace covers most of her delicate throat and on her head…a tiara with a single shining emerald set among gold filigree.

Shelookslike a princess.

And suddenly, I feel like the lady-in-waiting.

“I…I think so?” She comes in and stares into the mirror beside me. “Or is it a circlet?”

“I’m not up on my European headwear,” I mutter.

We burst into giggles.

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