Chapter Fourteen

Annabelle

Dom turns out to be a kind of champagne. A crazy expensive kind, not the cheap stuff we had in college. The woman—her name is Karen—and Josephine apparently expect me to sip it while beauticians work on my hair, feet and hands.

And I’m supposed to sit in the chair and watch Karen and Josephine go through racks and racks of dresses in various colors and styles and cuts.

I decline the alcohol and ask for mineral water. Karen merely nods and brings me a bottle and a glass filled with ice cubes. Meanwhile, Josephine raids the inventory.

“Not the right shade of green. It won’t do a thing for her eyes.”

“This cut’s going to look foul on her. Emphasizes all the wrong parts.”

“What do you think about this, Gigi? No? I don’t think so, either. Bodice is too low…”

Seven assistants bring out more racks and boxes. Josephine barely glances at them before creating two piles: “yes” and “no”. She doesn’t ask for my input all that much, for which I’m grateful. I’m already too overwhelmed to decide. Everything the women bring out looks beautiful. If it were up to me, I’d say yes to it all.

We take a short break for lunch. Since I’m starving, I’m grateful for the turkey and avocado wrap on the menu—organic and gluten-free of course. What kind of place is this anyway? It seems like there’s nothing the staff here won’t do for the customer.

After a couple of hours, the spa people are done with my hair, makeup and mani-pedi. One of the assistants sets a big mirror in front of me and I gasp. I honestly don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. My hair is soft and piled up in a slightly messy but sophisticated style. The judicious use of mascara and eye shadow enlarges and deepens the green of my eyes until they look like emeralds. My cheeks are expertly contoured, and light bronze powder gives me a healthy, sun-kissed glow. The pearlescent pink lacquer on my fingers and toes is lovely—chic enough for a night out but subtle enough for every day.

For the first time in a long, long while, I feel…gorgeous.

More importantly, I feel my age—a young, carefree woman.

“You look awesome,” Josephine says. “And you’re going to look even better after you change.”

She shows me a classy sleeveless black dress with a mandarin neckline and intricate patterns created by hundreds of small rhinestones. It stops a couple of inches above my knees. The back too is fully covered. “Is this good?”

“Yes,” I say, glad I’ll be in something on the conservative side.

“How comfortable are you with heels?”

“I can handle maybe three inches, I guess?”

Her nose wrinkles. “We’ll make do.” She holds out shiny black sandals with thin ankle straps. “Best just to go low rather than not high enough. Plus these’ll show off your new pedi.” She raises an index finger, and an assistant scurries over with a tray of accessories. “And these”—she picks up two long strips of diamonds—“should do wonders. Now please go change so we can see.”

“I don’t have the right bra.” Mine is somewhere between white and nude. I need something black.

“You aren’t supposed to wear one, my dear. And nothing down there either.” At my expression, she laughs. “Come on. Go wild. You’re twenty.”

“Actually, twenty-two.”

“Psshhh. Close enough. The girls are meant to roam free at that age.”

The assistant who brought out the earrings takes me to a dressing room with mirrors on all three sides. I take off my old clothes like a snake shedding its skin. For some reason this feels like I’m becoming someone different and new.

In a way, I am different for having run into Elliot. He makes me feel things that I thought weren’t in me. My sense of self-preservation says I should be careful not to let those feelings turn into something needy and clingy. I should keep things purely physical…as he obviously wants to.

I put on the dress and groan in dismay. It is not at all modest, not the way I imagined. Yes, the neckline is high, but the material is practically sheer until it hits maybe half an inch above my nipples. Then the fabric starts to gradually thicken until it’s completely opaque. But everyone can see my cleavage through the transparent section, and the back is made of the same kind of see-through material, not becoming fully opaque until it’s practically at my butt crack. No wonder Josephine vetoed underwear.

Even though I’m technically fully covered, I feel indecently naked all over. The only things that provide no surprise are the shoes and the earrings, but seriously. Every time the air brushes my bare butt, my glutes clench.

“I can’t wear this!” I call out.

“What’s wrong?” Josephine’s tone says she doesn’t believe she’s mistaken about the outfit. “Let me see.”

“Give me a different dress!”

“Not until I see what’s wrong with that one.”

She isn’t going to budge until I do as she asks. I roll my eyes, then finally walk out of the dressing room.

At the sight of me, she claps. “Oh my gosh, it’s perfect!”

“It’s so…slutty.”

“No, it’s not. It’s called a tease. All he’s going to think about is ripping that dress off you so he can see you without the veil. It’s perfect.”

“But—”

“You’re going to be seen with one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. Don’t be a prude. You can’t show up in a potato sack.” Josephine clasps a delicate tennis bracelet around my wrist. “Karen, send everything I picked out to Elliot’s place along with an invoice.” She pauses. “Actually, check with Elliot about where they should be delivered, but the invoice should go to him.”

“Of course,” Karen says.

“And take this.” Josephine opens a black purse and dumps my phone and wallet in it. “Ditch your old bag.”

“But—”

“Elliot’s going to be here in three minutes.”

“What?”

“It’s already five. The traffic’s going to be horrendous to the restaurant.”

“But—”

“No more buts. You look fantastic. Curse me if you like, but I won’t hear of how you can’t wear this.” Her phone buzzes. “That’s Elliot. He just pulled in. Now go wow him.”

* * *

Elliot

After I text Josephine, I lean back against the side of the Mercedes and wait. Maybe I should’ve picked someone else. As great as she is, she can be a bit heavy-handed, and the woman has a limitless reserve of energy when it comes to shopping, or so I heard Paige complain when she thought nobody was listening. But at the same time I’m not certain that she would’ve done as I asked without someone like Josephine to force her.

Gigi, I tell myself, my eyes closed. Gigi. Her name is Gigi.

It pisses her off that I won’t call her by her real name, but she’ll just have to deal. It isn’t my fault her name is Annabelle.

I considered staying away specifically for that reason, but I couldn’t let go. It’s the way she looks every time I see her. That defiant little tilt of her chin…and the sound she made when I kissed her, like she couldn’t believe she wanted me but then expected the need to dissipate in any moment. Doesn’t she know that chemistry like we have doesn’t just dissipate?

She’s obviously inexperienced…or maybe her ex-boyfriends were simply worthless.

Ideally both. I want to wreck her, utterly ruin her in the year we have together. Then maybe finally I can flush all the old and ugly shit I’m carrying out of my system.