Page 121 of Love Arranged
There’s a little glint in Julian’s eyes that tells me I’m on the right path, and I’ve never felt better about proving him wrong.
So much for him hoping I wouldn’t be able to answer the question.
Asshole.
“Pink?” The jeweler balks. “We’ve got sapphires and diamonds here, although the diamonds are significantly more expensive.”
“Perfect. I want to see everything you have.”
I must pass Julian’s test with flying colors because he remains tight-lipped, stewing in silence as he processes me becoming an integral part of his life.
Till the election do Lily and I part.
29
LILY
My sister and I have spent the last two hours searching for dresses, and while Dahlia has found seven different outfits already, including two dresses for the fundraiser dinner, I’ve struggled to find anything that feels like me.
When I slowly began switching my favorite outfits with new, less bold pieces, I said it wouldn’t be permanent. That I was only doing it temporarily while I sorted through my complicated feelings.
I justified it by saying I didn’t want to be vulnerable. That I didn’t want to express myself, whether it be with my words or through my clothes, and I most definitely didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention.
But was I really worried about other people, or was I more concerned about my skewedsense of self?
Because after my failed rebound post-Lorenzo, I’ll be honest: I didn’t like myself very much. I felt desperate to improve my self-esteem when I hopped into bed with someone else, and I was ashamed for hurting that same person when I realized my mistake—although Richard can fuck off now.
But maybe it’s time I forgave myself for the choices I’ve made.
Maybe it’s time tomove on.
Because how can I expect other people to accept me, let aloneappreciateme, if I can’t do the same?
The realization pushes me forward, and I’m reinvigorated as we head to another boutique on Dahlia’s list. The gown in the window steals my breath, and I come to a full stop in front of it.
I feel like it was made for me, with colorful pink flowers and green leaves embroidered into the gauzy baby-blue fabric. The corset features smaller flowers while the tulle skirt is covered with larger floral brocade, the shape flattering yet still offering enough coverage to make my mom happy.
“Okay, now that’s the look I was waiting for!” Dahlia drags me inside the boutique, where we are greeted with champagne glasses and a charming duo who are more than happy to remove the dress off the mannequin so I can try it on.
I’m ushered into a small dressing room and handed the dress while my sister sits right outside the door, sipping her champagne. The room has no mirror, so I can’t see how I look unless I leave the fitting room.
“There’s no price tag,” I announce while stepping into the designer dress.
“I’m sure Lorenzo won’t mind.”
I look down at the dress with a huff. I can’t help brushing my hand down the tulle skirt, hoping to find a single flaw to scare me away from buying it. The intricate details are even better up close, and the colors appear much more vibrant, the baby-blue color looking different depending on which light I stand under.
I step out of the room, and my sister sucks in a breath. One of the salespeople rushes over to help me adjust the corset, and she turns me around so I face the mirror.
My reflection stares back at me, and it’s hard to hold my own gaze without getting emotional.
After spending so many months hiding—of disliking myself for mistakes I made and insecurities I couldn’t ignore—I’m hit with a strong sense of longing.
“Does it come in black?” Dahlia asks the associate, clearly poking fun at me.
“Uh. No,” she replies.
Dahlia fakes a pout. “Pity. My sister probably won’t buy it, then.”
