Page 95 of Absinthe Minded

“You’ll be lucky to find an off-the-rack gown as it is. The gala’s this weekend. I ordered my dress six months ago. Face it, honey, it’s today or never.” Dahlia glanced at Shanna as if expecting her to agree.

“She’s right. This late everything will be picked over.” Lindsey smiled, seemingly unaware she’d butted into their conversation.

Shanna glanced from Lindsey to me with a what-the-hell expression.

Dahlia didn’t seem bothered—that or she had better manners. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dahlia.”

“Lindsey. Nice to meet you.”

“I name-dropped us into an appointment at Harold Clarke,” Shanna said, ignoring the other conversation.

“Whose name did you drop?” I put the cut lime wedges in a container and stuffed it into the mini fridge.

“Yours of course, and I happened to mention your fiancé.”

Perfect.As a general rule, I hated shopping. Nothing fits the way it should when you’re short and busty. “Give me a few minutes to clean up.”

In the time it took me to freshen up, Lindsey had wrangled an invitation to go shopping with us. I found it weird. Judging by Shanna’s expression and constant eye rolling, she agreed. Dahlia, on the other hand, seemed too excited to care.

We arrived at the dress shop five minutes past our appointment time, but I didn’t think our tardiness had caused the salesperson’s sour expression.

The woman glanced from my beat-up boots to my messy bun and frowned. It reminded me of the scene fromPretty Woman, except I’d brought friends and…well…I wasn’t a prostitute.

Shanna did the talking while I browsed the dresses on display. A pit formed in my stomach, a pit that threatened to swallow me from the inside out. Generally speaking, if the menu didn’t have prices, I couldn’t afford the food. I assumed dress shops operated under the same principle.

“Ladies?” An older woman motioned for us to follow her into a sitting area near the dressing rooms. She turned to Dahlia and smiled. “You must be Mary Margaret.”

Oh, God, can this get any more embarrassing?I raised my hand. “I’m Maggie.”

The woman’s smile faltered. “What size are you, dear?”

Yes, it could get more embarrassing.“A twelve.”

The woman tittered. “Why don’t we take some measurements? You don’t look like a size twelve, though it’s hard to say in those baggy clothes.”

I followed her behind one of the drapes like an obedient puppy. “I just got off work.”

“Please, call me Clair, and don’t worry about it. We’ll get you taken care of. I understand you need a couple of cocktail dresses, as well as the formal?”

“No, just the formal.”

“Oh? I spoke to Mr. Marchionni this afternoon. He said to assure you that he would take care of everything.” Clair smiled, and I swear I saw dollar signs in her eyes. “His instructions were clear.”

My heart fell to my knees. Which Mr. Marchionni had agreed to pay for my dresses? It had to be Papa Joe, because I couldn’t imagine Gabe caring what I wore. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” Clair left me sitting in the dressing room wearing a lavender silk robe and chewing on my bottom lip.

Shanna and Dahlia talked in hushed tones outside.

I poked my head out of the drapes. “What are you guys talking about?”

“You, of course.” Dahlia laughed.

Lindsey glanced at the other two and nodded with a bright smile, too bright.

I did my best not to think about her. I hated to be mean, but the woman gave me the creeps. “Shanna, did you know they called Papa Joe and asked about payment?”

Shanna hitched a shoulder. “They called Gabe.”

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