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Miles grins. “Yeah, I bet you’d love to see that. Sorry to disappoint—this dress was always for you.”
He covers my eyes with his hands, walking me through the main room of our suite into the bedroom.
“Is this just a ruse to get me back in that bed?” I say.
“Possibly,” Miles says. “Depends how much you like your gift . . .”
He pulls his hands away, revealing a strapless gown artfully displayed on the coverlet, with a pair of matching silk gloves, a belt, and high-heeled shoes in precisely the same shade of shocking pink.
I stare at the dress, hands over my mouth.
“You didn’t . . .” I whisper.
“It’s not the real one,” Miles says, quickly. “I mean, I’ll buy that for you if you want, but it’s so old it would fall apart if you tried to wear it. I had a replica made. It’s all peau d’ange silk, just like the original, and look, the lining’s black satin. The palms of the gloves are even suede, just like in the film.”
“How on earth did you remember?” I say.
Three years ago, I told Miles that my dream dress was the one Marilyn Monroe wore inGentlemen Prefer Blondes.I used to watch that movie all the time with myabuela.
I’ve never mentioned it since.
“I remember everything you say to me,” Miles tells me, his expression serious.
It’s true—Miles never forgets. He never misses details. He never fails to come through.
“How do you do it?” I say, shaking my head at him.
“I do it because you matter to me,” Miles says. “I wouldn’t forget about you any more than I’d forget about breathing.”
I can’t breathe right now. My chest is too tight. The dress is so beautiful. It’s a dream come to life—something I never expected to actually touch and hold.
“Put it on,” he says.
The silk is smooth and cool as water running over my skin. I pull on the dress, turning so Miles can zip the back, carefully navigating the oversized bow at the waist.
I step into the shoes, don the gloves, and stand before the full-length mirror so we can both admire the effect.
The pink silk blazes against my skin. The dress fits me to the millimeter.
“How in the fuck did you get my measurements!” I cry.
Miles just laughs. “That was the easy part,” he says.
I snap a picture of myself so I can send it to Chay. She texts me back immediately, in all caps, so I can almost hear her screech of delight:
THAT IS THE HOTTEST YOU’VE EVER LOOKED! What a perfect wedding present for me ;)
Miles laughs reading it.
“I thought it was more a gift to myself, but I’m glad Chay’s happy.”
I grab his face between my hands and kiss him.
“I’mhappy,” I tell him. “Extremely happy.”
We take the elevator down to the reception. Miles looks irresistible in a cream-colored suit with his dark curls freshly washed and his face clean-shaven. I’m already counting the minutes until we can go back up to our room.
We’re seated amongst a profusion of peonies, dahlias, and overblown roses, in brilliant shades of fuchsia, orange, and crimson.
