In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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"Alone at last," Ang says with a laugh. "What have you got in there? Can I bring you a couple of things? What size?"
"Oh," I say, pausing my struggle to stare at the collection of hangers I already have. "Sure, I guess." Then I give her my clothing range based on material and cut.
Two seconds after I've finished speaking, Ang raps on the door and tosses a plum-colored gown over the top. The fabric looks heavy and expensive.
"That's too fancy," I say.
"It's my wedding," Ang says, "and I don't think it's too fancy."
"I'll look like a bridesmaid."
"It is a bridesmaid's dress," Ang admits. "But my bridesmaids are wearing green in a medieval theme. You'll be fine. Besides, you'll be on Blake's arm. Being a step above other people is practically a requirement."
The dress I was trying to get on is still unzipped at the back, an electric blue nightmare, and I stare at the one shouldered floor length gown in the prettiest plum.
"You have to be honest," I say, as I shimmy out of the first dress to put on Ang's selection. "I want Blake to lose the ability to speak."
"Did he ever have it?" Ang asks dryly.
"Touché." As I tug the garment over my head, it slides over my body in a delicious cascade of material. I'm in love from the feel of it alone. From behind, I tug the zipper as far as I can, and then I reach over my back to draw it the rest of the way. Then when I turn to look in the mirror, my breath catches. The color looks amazing on me. My skin is still sun kissed from the long summer and fall outdoors with Blake, and the plum's richness makes my brown hair less bland, and my brown eyes sparkle with happiness.
"You are a freaking genius," I say to Ang as I open the changeroom door.
Ang's hand flies to her chest when she sees me. "Wow. That's a winner."
I turn in a circle, and the dress swishes around my legs. It's fitted, but not so much that I can't move.
"That looks lovely on you," the salesclerk says from the desk. "Off the rack and fits you like a glove."
"We'll take it," Ang says with a grin. "Put it on Blake's card."
"What? No. I can pay for it."
"Nope," Ang says. "He left clear instructions that he was to pay for whatever dress you wanted." She gently tears the tag off the dress. "He mentioned a deal, and when my brother gives his word, he takes that oath very seriously."
I go back into the changeroom, and I stare at myself in the mirror, surprised at how pretty I look without my hair and makeup done. Maybe I really can stop Blake in his tracks, make him reevaluate.
When I come out with the dress slung over my arm, Ang is getting Blake's credit card from the salesclerk who then slips my dress into a garment bag.
"We should grab a drink," Ang says as she pushes open the front door.
