Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Suddenly, I had no idea what to say, and I looked helplessly at Felicity.
“I’m—I’m looking for a dress,” she said.
The woman tilted her head. “A wedding dress?”
“No. I mean, yes, but no.” She took a breath and closed her eyes a moment. “Sorry. The dress would be for an engagement party.”
The woman seemed to relax a little. “Wonderful. Congratulations. Did you have a style in mind?”
“Something a little more casual than what’s in the window. White is fine, but no ball gown or long train or anything. The party is outdoors, on a patio.”
“And will you need to leave with the dress today?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re going home tomorrow. But if you don’t have anything, I—”
The woman held up a hand as she looked Felicity over head to toe. “I have something. We’ll need to go off the rack, of course, but I’m seeing something short, perhaps tulle with pearl beading, something to emphasize your waistline, maybe a full skirt, a statement sleeve. Give me a moment.”
“Thank you.”
The woman disappeared into the back and Felicity and I looked at each other.
“What the hell is a statement sleeve?” I asked. “Is this dress going to talk?”
“I think it means the sleeves will be big and dramatic.”
“Interesting.”
Twenty minutes later, Felicity stood on a raised platform in front of a half-hexagon of mirrors, up on her toes as if she was wearing high heels. She couldn’t stop smiling. The dress was pretty, but I couldn’t have told you one thing about it other than it hit her above the knee, had short (big and dramatic) puffy sleeves, no back, and made her glow with happiness.
“Like it was made for you.” The saleswoman—Olga was her name—shook her head. “It doesn’t even need alteration, I can’t believe it.”
“It’s so pretty,” Felicity gushed, turning to check out the back over her shoulder. She’d removed her hat and put her hair up in a ponytail on the top of her head, sort of like Pebbles Flintstone.
“Let me see if I have a shoe for you to try on. What size are you?”
“Seven,” said Felicity. “But that’s okay, I don’t know if—”
“I’ll be back.” Olga disappeared into the back again.
I’d been standing back, out of the way, but now I moved closer. Met her eyes in the mirror. “What do you think?”
“I think we should get out of here while we can. This is nuts.”
I grabbed her arm to keep her right where she was. “Or it makes perfect sense,” I said with a smile. “Both things can be true.”
She shook her head. “Not this time. It’s too much.”
“Too much money?”
“Just—too much.”
“What do you mean?”
She closed her eyes. “I guess I’m getting nervous that the line between real and make-believe is growing a little blurry. Know what I mean?”
Of course I did. I was the one blurring it. But it just felt so fucking good to give her everything she wanted, to be able to spoil her for this short time. “Felicity, it’s just a dress.”
She turned to face me. Seconds ticked by. “Is it?”
I have to admit, I hesitated too. “Yes.”
Her mouth opened, and I thought she was going to call me out on the lie. But suddenly, blood streamed from her nostrils, and she clapped her hands over her nose, her eyes wild with fear. “Shoot!”
Without another word, I whipped off my T-shirt and held it up to her face.
“Get the dress off me!” she cried, her voice muffled by the cotton.
Shirtless, I was fumbling around looking for a zipper when Olga returned holding a pair of high heels. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of us, her expression horrified. She probably thought we were trying to have a romantic tryst right there in her shop.
“She has a bloody nose,” I explained. “Can you help?”
Olga shrieked and dropped the shoes as she raced for us. Twenty seconds later, she was cradling the dress and looking with alarm at the red stains on my white shirt. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Felicity shook her head. “It’s not that bad,” came her muffled reply. “I can wait it out.”
“No,” I told Olga. “She’ll be fine. Is the dress okay?”
“I think so.” She held it up and gasped. “No! There is a spot of blood right here on the neckline! It’s faint, but I can see it. The dress is ruined.”
I smiled at Felicity. “Then I guess we have to buy it.”
“I’m sorry.” Next to me on a bench in Washington Square Park, Felicity stared down at the garment bag across her lap. She’d tried to pay for it while I ran over to the men’s shop next door to Cosette Lavigne to buy a new shirt, but her credit card had been declined.
“Don’t be.” I put my arm around her.
“This dress was too expensive.”
“It’s worth it.”
“I bled all over your white shirt.”