Page 12 of Big Bad Wolf

“Sale? Here?” My eyes narrow. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“Never. I’d never lie to you,” she lies while guiding me into a fitting room. “You’ll look beautiful, baby. Everyone at the gala will fall in love.”

I shut the curtain with a huff and then turn to face the mirror, placing the dress in front of me. Donna’s right. It is lovely. And although it’s sexy, it isn’t necessarily revealing. I could pair it with strappy heels, wear my hair long, and invest in some pretty lingerie. Would Donna suspect something if I asked her to help me pick something out? She’s much better at these things than me.

“Are you done? Let me see you, Scarlett,” Donna hollers from the other side of the curtain. “Don’t make me go in there!”

“Hold on, I’ll be right out.” I fight to pull down the skirt and adjust the asymmetrical neckline. It’s sexy, but it isn’t my style. I feel beautiful, but I’m not sure if it suits me. Typically, I go for comfort and professionalism, classic hemlines and styles. Perhaps I’ve been too rigid. There’s nothing wrong with looking sexy… sometimes.

Satisfied I’ve dressed correctly and buttoned every button, I turn on my heels and exit the tiny fitting room, prepared for Donna’s honest opinion. She’d never lead me astray. Two summers ago, I became obsessed with a pair of comfortable Crocs and wore them throughout the city. Donna made me see the error of my ways and nipped it in the bud. She swears she’ll return them to me when I turn forty.

“Ta-da! What do you think?” With a sudden surge of confidence, I mimic Sybil’s catwalk strut, give a twirl, and turn to face the large mirror, hoping it gives me a better view of every angle.

“Wow! You look fantastic!” Donna leaps from her chair and offers a standing ovation. “Marvelous! Stupendous! I’m dying of jealousy and wish I were you.” She giggles and signals the saleslady lurking nearby. “My daughter needs shoes that go with this dress. Can you bring us a few she can try on? Something sexy, not too high, in a size seven.”

The saleswoman leaves in a dash while Donna steps closer to adjust the ruched waist. She smiles to herself and prances around me, examining every stitch to make sure it meets her standards. “This is truly stunning.”

“It does look nice. Thank you for finding it for me. I don’t typically wear black, but—”

Donna cuts me off.

“Oh, it suits you! Everyone looks good in black. It’s sexy and mysterious. And such a great look for tomorrow evening.” She hums as she places a pair of strappy slingback sandals in front of me. “Try these on. I think they’ll look perfect, but I want to ensure you can walk in them.”

I slip my feet into them, adjust the straps to secure them properly, and try a practice run. They’re far more comfortable than they appear and offer a nice boost in height that might come in handy with Vasily.

Speak of the devil. I left my phone in my purse and have yet to reply to his last message. I scurry through the fitting room curtains and reach into my bag as it pings.

Vasily: Where did you go, Little Red?

Me: Sorry. My stepmother made me try something on. She can be very persuasive.

Vasily: More persuasive than me?

Me: That’s impossible.

“Who are you talking to? I recognize that smile—you’re flirting via text. But with whom? Oh, my goodness, are you talking to Davide? I thought your father said he was going to surprise you.” Donna stands by the open curtain and prattles, flailing her arms excitedly.

Davide La Morte? She couldn’t possibly mean Davide La Morte. My father knows I can’t stand him. He’s the worst human being I have ever met.

“You must be joking,” I answer flatly, unamused at the suggestion.

Donna’s eyes widen with confusion. “No. Your father said this romance has been brewing for years. He’s so handsome.” She angles her head, leaning closer to whisper, “Don’t you like him?”

I shake my head and frown, puzzled as to why she and my father have discussed our nonexistent romance. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t stand breathing the same air as him. Please don’t tell me Dad isn’t cooking up some kind of setup.”

She pauses, looking over her shoulder to ensure the saleslady isn’t listening. “Honey, I didn’t know you disliked him. I would have stopped your father from inviting him to the gala as your date. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but he swore you’d be happy about it.”

My jaw hits the floor. I always knew my father had impressive audacity, but I never thought he’d be so reckless with my feelings. “Is that why you’re pushing this hoochie-mama dress on me? To lure La Morte money?” I stomp my foot and turn to face the mirror, unwilling to part with a dress as lovely as this but needing to make a statement out of principle.

“That’s not a hoochie-mama dress, baby. That’s another department we can check out if you’d like. And I’d never push you together with someone you don’t like,” Donna assures me, spreading her arms wide to hug me. “Bring it in, little girl.”

I cross my arms over my chest and turn my head, holding out for a concession. “Will you explain to Dad why I can’t go tomorrow?”

Donna drops her arms and sighs. “I can’t do that, sweetheart. The press knows you’re accompanying your dad. You have to show your face. But I promise I’ll run interference and keep him from bugging you. We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

Inside the fitting room, I close the curtain, spin around, and point to the zipper. “Please help me out of this dress. And help me pick out the lingerie that goes with it. You know I’m useless at those things.”

“Lingerie?” She gets to work unzipping and unbuttoning, humming an unfamiliar tune while helping me step out of the dress. “Lingerie? For whom? The man on the phone? Oh, my goodness. Do you have a boyfriend? Why are you holding out on me?”

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