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“Live a little.” Whitney gestured to the far side of the room where there were racks of dresses that were not ivory or white. “The website said they specialize in evening wear as well. Probably over there.”
Evening wear still seemed more…more than what I wanted. “I just wanted something that was a little jazzier than my current little black dress. I don’t think I need to go all the way into evening wear.”
Whitney frowned at me. “Did you not read the invitation to this fundraiser? It’s black tie optional.”
“Emphasis onoptional. Right?” I blew out a breath and trailed after Whitney. I wasn’t sure she even heard me. But if black tie was optional, then surely a cocktail dress would do. Wouldn’t it? “I should just wear—”
“If you talk to me about that sad, poly-cotton blend catalog black dress again, I’m going to cry. It’s great for funerals. Or maybe something like an industry cocktail party. It’s not going to cut it for the Ballentine Christmas gala. Trust me.” Whitney started flicking through the hangers on the first rack of long evening gowns. Every now and then, she’d pause on one, look over at me, then pull off a dress and hook it on her wrist.
“You need to check the size, don’t you?” And the price? Please someone let me check the price!
“This isn’t Macy’s. You try it on. They order the right size. You tailor it.”
I gulped. “I don’t—we don’t—have time for that. The gala is next Friday. That’s not quite two weeks.”
Whitney waved that off. “So we have them rush it. It’s doable. I called to ask.”
My stomach sank. It might be doable if I was married to a billionaire. But I wasn’t. Or if I wanted to ask my billionaire brother or my billionaire boyfriend to finance things. And I didn’t. “Maybe Macy’s isn’t such a bad idea.”
“Seriously?” Whitney thrust the three dresses she’d pulled in my direction. “Go see about trying these on.”
Since my options were to let the gowns—and I wasn’t kidding myself into saying they weren’t gowns—fall on the floor and probably be ruined somehow, or take them, I took them. I looked around and spotted a woman who clearly worked in the store and started easing in her direction.
“Did you need a fitting room?” The woman reached for the gowns and I released them into her care with a relieved breath.
“I guess. I’m not sure…”
She offered a sympathetic smile. “First big event?”
“I guess? Prom was a while ago. The invitation said black tie optional, and I really think this black dress I have at home will be fine.” I’d finished my sentence even though the woman had started shaking her head when I got to “black dress.”
“Not many people opt for cocktail under those circumstances. Let’s get you set up and see what we see. When is the event?”
“The fifteenth?” I really hoped she’d gasp in horror and kick us out of her store for having the gall to look at such short notice.
But she just nodded. “I think we should be able to make that happen. Let’s have a look.”
I shot a glance in Whitney’s direction. She was busy at the rack and had what looked like at least two other dresses set aside. Hopefully, they were for her, not me, because I’d caught a glimpse of one of the price tags and there was just no way.
“Here we are.” The woman whipped a curtain aside and gestured me into a room of mirrors. “Try the red one first, I think. Step out here when you’re in and I’ll see what adjustments we need to make.”
I managed a weak smile as she hooked the hangers on a bar and stepped out of the dressing room, closing the curtain with an expert flick of her wrist.
I pressed my fists to my eyes, but when I moved them away, I was still in the middle of what had to be the world’s worst nightmare. I pinched my leg, close to tears when it hurt. So, fine. I’d try on some dresses and then make my excuses for why I couldn’t possibly, and maybe I could order something online that would get here in time.
With a resolute nod, I shed my clothes and wriggled into the red dress. It was a darker red—verging on burgundy—at least. Not something that screamed, “Look at me!” But it was a halter-style with a deep V in the front and a swoop in the back that made it obvious I wouldn’t be wearing a bra. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest as I looked in the mirror.
The rest of the dress, I kind of loved. It had a sort of deco feel with form-hugging seaming on the bodice, across my hips, and then about mid-thigh it flared out into floating waves. I’d call it almost mermaid-esque, except that brought up mental pictures of Morticia Adams mincing around and this was definitely not that.
I poked my head out of the curtain.
“Ready? Come out and stand on this pedestal.” The woman was waiting right there. Hovering, even.
There went my dreams that she’d gotten busy and I could escape. I offered a tight smile and slipped out to do as she said.
“This is practically made for you.” She circled me. I felt her fingers briefly at my waist and hip. “Let me get some shoes. I’m not sure you’d even need it hemmed.”
“I don’t—”
