Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
An overdressed, over made up girl approaches me. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m just browsing, thanks.’
‘This section is all new season stock,’ She runs her arm along a suspended rail of dresses. ‘We have some beautiful dresses. Please, just ask if you need another size.’ She smiles.
‘Thank you.’
I start cruising through the rails, spotting some truly gorgeous dresses – albeit stupid prices, but gorgeous nevertheless. I pick up a fitted, cream silk, sleeveless affair. It’s shorter than I usually wear, but lovely.
‘You’re not wearing that!’
I snap my head up and see Jesse stood in the doorway, looking at the dress like it could spit poison. Oh, how embarrassing! The sales assistant looks wide eyed at Jesse and back to me. I half smile at her. I’m horrified. Who the bloody hell does he think he is? I throw him my dirtiest look, mouth fuck off and watch as the proverbial steam fires out of his ears.
I turn to the assistant. ‘Have you anything shorter.’ I ask sweetly.
‘Ava!’ he barks. ‘Don’t push me.’
I ignore him, keeping my eyes on the assistant expectantly. The poor girl looks like she could have a panic attack, her gaze flicking, very nervously, from me to Jesse and back again.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ she says quietly.
Okay, now I’m feeling sorry for her. I shouldn’t be dragging her into this pathetic disagreement over a dress. ‘Okay, I’ll take this one.’ I smile, handing her the dress.
She looks at me, then at Jesse. ‘Urh…is this the correct size for you?’
‘It’s a ten?’ I ask. I can literally feel the shop shaking under his wrath.
‘It is, but I would recommend that you try it on, we don’t offer refunds.’ she advises me.
Well, I was going to risk it not fitting, but at that price, maybe not. She shows me to a changing room, hanging the dress on a fancy hook for me.
‘Just call if you require any help.’ She smiles, pulling the velvet curtain across, leaving me and the dress alone.
I’m being as pathetic as Jesse by doing this; I’m purposely pushing him. We’re talking about the man who made me sleep in a winter jumper in the middle of spring because another male was in the flat. Is this necessary? I decide it is – he can’t behave like this.
I fight my way into the dress, struggling with the zipper where it meets the seam on the bust line. I’m not giving up. I know if I can just get it over that line of stitching, it’ll be just fine. I smooth down the front of the dress. It feels lovely.
Pulling the curtain across, I stand back from the floor length mirror to take a good look. Wow! This dress really does it for me. It compliments my olive skin and dark hair perfectly.
‘Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’
I swivel, finding Jesse gripping his hair, pacing up and down. He looks like he’s been Taser gunned. He stops, looks at me, opens his mouth, snaps it shut and starts with the pacing again. I’m quite amused.
He stops stalking and looks at me, all wide eyed and traumatised. ‘You’re not...you…you can’t...Ava…baby…oh, I can’t look at you!’ He walks out adjusting his groin, muttering some crap about an intolerable female and heart attacks. Then I’m alone with the dress again.
The assistant approaches with caution. ‘The dress looks incredible.’ she says quietly, looking over her shoulder for Jesse’s whereabouts.
‘Thank you, I’ll take it.’ The dress is easier to remove than it is to get on. I hand it over to the assistant and get myself dressed.
When I exit the changing rooms, Jesse is inspecting some very high heels. The look of mystification on his beautiful face makes me melt slightly, but then he spots me, shoves them back and scowls at me. And I remember…I’m furious with him. I get my purse from my bag and hand my credit card over. Five hundred quid for a dress? It is way too extravagant, but I’m being defiant. And I called him a child? This is ridiculous. Where did he get the idea that he has the right to call the shots of my wardrobe choice?
The assistant begins wrapping the dress in all sorts of fancy tissue paper. I want to tell her to shove it in a bag and be done with it, before Jesse resorts to ripping it apart. But I fear the poor girl might lose her job if she did something as common as that. So, I resign myself to shutting up and waiting patiently while she does her thing.
After an age of wrapping, folding, tucking in and punching in my pin number, the assistant hands me the bag. ‘Enjoy the dress, Madam. It really did look lovely on you.’ She flicks a cautious glace at Jesse.
‘Thank you,’ I smile. Now, how to get out of the store? I turn, finding Jesse filling the doorway, still scowling and still brooding. I walk with purpose, I don’t really feel, and stop in front of him. I’m really crapping myself, but I won’t let him see that. ‘Excuse me.’