Total pages in book: 221
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 213317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1067(@200wpm)___ 853(@250wpm)___ 711(@300wpm)
Oscar hands me the Bardot neck dress and my fingers fumble as I close the fitting room door behind me. There’s a full-length mirror and I look pasty pale in shock as I shed my cami top and jeans. This one won’t take a bra with it, so I’m in nothing but a tiny pair of lace panties as I slip the dress on, my feet bare. I close my eyes for a moment before I dare to check out my reflection.
Oh my God. It takes my breath away. It’s the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen on me.
The split shows off my leg to perfection, even though I’m flat footed with no heels on – so hell knows how incredible it would look in stilettos. The neck showcases my collar bones like a dream, and I can’t even fathom how amazing it would feel to wear this out somewhere.
I choke at the rise of ridiculous tears, unable to believe that this is really my life now. I can’t believe I’m in a place like this with a gorgeous and generous man like Ant sitting outside, in love with me. No amount of pinches in the world could make this experience feel real.
I’m jittery as I step out and reveal myself to Ant and Oscar.
Oscar exclaims with a wow, beautiful, but it’s not Oscar’s expression I give a shit about, it’s Ant’s.
Ant doesn’t say a word, but his eyes say everything. He gets up from his chair and steps closer, then asks me to give him a twirl.
It’s real now, and there is no denying it. I’m a princess in one of my fairy tale stories. The way he smiles at me puts me on top of the universe.
“We’ll definitely be taking this one,” he says to Oscar. “You look like a goddess, Cass.”
I feel like one.
“The silk dress next,” Ant says.
It looks as breath-taking as the first and gets the same reaction, and the deep blue velvet is such a hit that it gets a round of applause from Oscar as Ant nods his approval.
I’m sure that’ll be all for this shopping trip, since we’re taking all three of them, but no.
“More now, please,” Ant says to Oscar. “More dresses, more evening wear, and lots of lingerie.”
Oscar is off in a happy skip and I’m standing in front of Ant as more shocked tears spring up, paling all over again.
“Ant, this is too much,” I say, but he waves my comment aside.
“Don’t even think of undervaluing yourself, Cass. I won’t hear a peep of it.”
Oscar returns with another three dresses – a burgundy ballgown and a tight number in jet black, along with a floaty gold patterned one.
“Wait a moment, please,” he says once he’s hung the dresses up in position, and then he fetches an armful of lingerie in blacks, and reds and pure whites, placing them in the fitting room for me.
“Come on, baby,” Ant says. “There’s plenty more to go yet. Best get moving.”
I’m lost in tears, and shock, and exclamations of approval as I switch from outfit to outfit. I don’t like the gold patterned dress so much, but Ant does, so he tells Oscar we’ll take it anyway. Ant doesn’t even want to see me trying out the lingerie. He says we’ll take it all. Then it’s on to casual – daytime dresses, and perfectly fitted skirts with complementary tops, and, my God, everything feels incredible.
Oscar is insanely good at matching me with items that suit and fit me like a dream, but that’s his profession after all – to match clients with their ideals.
They aren’t my ideals though, they’re Ant’s. He is the true client here, not me. It’s him who gives the thumbs-up on every item that goes into the yes pile, and that yes decision becomes more and more natural with every outfit I put on.
The nod of his approval and the adoration in his eyes are addictive whenever I present myself for him with a twirl. I’m thankful for everything he’s getting for me, but even more thankful for the love and pride he shows with every smile
I truly do think we’re done by the time we are off across the boutique to the register, but no. Ant asks me to choose a clutch on the way through the store. I pick a classic in black and diamante with another thank you, making sure I don’t look at the price. Still, he takes us on a detour to the shoe section and I choose a few pairs of fresh stilettos that will surpass my ones at home by a million miles.
I don’t want to hear the price Ant is paying, I really don’t. I think it would make me feel sick with a crazy combination of humility, and gratitude, and WTF all in one go, so I walk away and stare at the bustling street outside, nicely out of earshot. I take my boyfriend’s hand once we are loaded up and ready to go, so overwhelmed I can hardly breathe.