Chapter Twelve
Chessie
“Wow.” Ria’s eyes are nearly falling out of her head. “This one is five thousand dollars!”
“I don’t need any help feeling nervous.” My heart bangs on my ribs. None of the dresses hanging on racks in this shop are less than a thousand dollars. Most are over three thousand. And some of the more heavily beaded ones displayed on mannequins are close to ten.
The shop is in a mall, with a hair stylists on one side and a beauty spa on the other, and all three work together to produce a finished package for women who are going to posh events.
I’m here with Ria, Lisa, and Scarlett. When we first came into the shop, we were shown past the glittering gowns to a private nook with a squishy cream leather suite, where a bottle of champagne was waiting on ice for us.
Scarlett is a little more used to this way of life now, and she spoke to Clara, the assistant, about what we were looking for, while the three of us nervously sipped our champagne and tried not to giggle.
Clara informed me that Kingi has instructed them to put my purchases on an account.
He’s apparently told them to supply me with everything I need for the ball, including shoes and handbag, and I’m also to come here on Saturday, when they’ll do my hair and makeup for me. And there’s no limit to price. Eek!
She suggested we start by having a look through the gowns to see if anything appeals to me, and once she knows what kind of gown I’m interested in, she can suggest others I might like.
“What about this?” Scarlett says, lifting one off the hook and turning with it against her. “It would look good with your red hair.” It’s emerald green, with a big skirt. It looks like a grass-flavored meringue.
“Oh my God.” I feel a wave of panic. “I could never wear something like that.” I blow out a shaky breath.
“Do you need to put your head between your knees?” Lisa asks.
I’m actually close to hyperventilating, and I glance at Clara, wondering if she’s going to be smirking behind her head with the other assistant in the shop.
But the other assistant is busy with some paperwork, and Clara’s expression is kind rather than being like the haughty assistants in Pretty Woman I’d dreaded so much.
She’s in her forties, tall and elegant, and she comes up now with a gentle smile and says, “That’s okay, it’s good that you’re clear about what you’d like.
So you don’t want a traditional ballgown skirt. And you’d prefer a less vivid color?”
I nod. “I don’t want people looking at me.”
Her lips quirk up. “With that hair, my dear, you will always have people looking at you.”
I touch my ponytail self-consciously. “You mean the color?”
“Yes, and it looks beautifully soft. I think you should wear it down for the ball.”
“I never wear my hair down.”
She looks astonished. “Why not?”
“It draws too much attention. I used to dye it.”
Her jaw drops. “My dear, women would kill to have hair that color.” Then her expression turns kind. “But I understand you’re uncomfortable being in the limelight. We need to find you a gown you feel comfortable in. Something that makes you want to show yourself off rather than hide away.”
Privately, I can’t imagine a dress exists that would make me want to show myself off, but I don’t say so.
“We’ll try a variety of styles,” she says, “until you find one you like.”
Leaving the other three to sit and chat with the champagne and a plate of chocolate-covered biscuits, Clara and the other assistant collect a dozen gowns from around the shop and take me into a huge dressing room.
I know precisely zero about fashion, and I hadn’t realized there were so many silhouettes, as she calls them.
A-Line, Mermaid, Trumpet, Fit-and-Flare, Slip, Sheath, Column, Empire, High-Low, Drop Waist. She goes through them all, taking her time.
God knows how much Kingi has paid her for our appointment.
I try on all the different styles, parading the results in front of my friends, who are having the time of their lives.
Gradually, I begin to whittle the style down.
I don’t like anything with a flowing skirt, and surprise myself by preferring the close-fitting styles.
I feel they suit the fact that I’m on the shorter side, and even though I don’t have a small bust, and I don’t normally like drawing attention to my figure, I much prefer the simple Mermaid, Column, and Slip-style dresses.
The color is more difficult. Everyone wants me to wear bold tones like bright red, emerald, and sapphire, but I’m not comfortable in those. They’re too gaudy, in my eyes. They scream that I want to be looked at, and I really don’t.
“Can’t I wear black?” I ask.
“Nooooo,” they all say together, and laugh.
“I need something more subtle,” I beg the two assistants. “Please.”
“Oh,” the other assistant says suddenly. “I have an idea.” She whispers to Clara, who nods and smiles, then walks over to a rack and brings out a dress.
“Oooh,” the girls all say.
My jaw drops. “I can’t wear that,” I whisper. But even I can hear the longing in my voice.
“Why don’t you just try it on,” Clara suggests with a smile.
So I do.
And it’s perfect.
*
Thirty minutes later, we’re done. I have the gown, and I’ve been talked into buying new underwear, pretty sandals, a clutch bag, and jewelry.
I have everything in several bags which are almost as beautiful as the items inside, except for the dress, which remains in the shop.
Clara has booked me into the hairdresser’s next door on Saturday afternoon, and then I’ll be going to the spa to meet a beautician who’ll do my makeup for me before I finally put on the dress.
I thank Clara and the other assistant, and then we leave the shop and stand in the mall. I feel a little dizzy after all that.
“You’ll have to take a video of Kingi so we can see his face when he first sees you,” Ria says with a grin.
“I wish you’d both come with me,” I say wistfully.
We’ve had this discussion already. Neither Ria nor Lisa can afford a ballgown.
I offered to buy them one from the money Kingi gave me, as I know he wouldn’t mind if I treated my friends, especially as he’s asked me to invite people I know to the ball.
But despite being tempted, they both declined, and I haven’t pushed them.
I wouldn’t have accepted a handout either if I was in their position, plus I know they’re both intimidated by the thought of going to such a high-profile event at the Midnight Club.
“At least you’ll have Scarlett,” Lisa says.
“Yes,” I reply, “and—”
“Whoa.” The male voice from behind me stops me in my tracks. “What the fuck?”
I spin around, alarmed to see Tamati and a couple of his friends.
He looks with amusement at the bags in my hands. “Have you been in there?” He stares at the shop in amazement and then starts laughing. “Dressing up for Kingi Davis? I hope he realizes there’s no point in putting lipstick on a pig.” He glances at his friends, who all snigger.
My face flushes. Scarlett slides her arm through mine. “Let’s go and get a coffee in Espresso.” She turns her back on him. “I fancy a piece of chocolate cake.”
“Yeah, coz she needs a few extra pounds on her hips,” Tamati states.
I’m hardly obese, but who doesn’t carry a few extra pounds? He’s aware that I’m sensitive about my curves. He knows exactly where to slide the blade between my ribs to get at my heart.
I want to slap him, or even punch him—Kingi taught me some boxing moves when we were young for self-defense purposes, and I’m pretty sure I could do some damage with a good right hook.
But with some surprise, I realize I’m done with him. I’m not going to lower myself to his level. I’m better than that. Nothing I can say or do will hurt him the way he’s hurt me. So I’m not going to even try. He’s beneath me. He doesn’t even exist for me anymore.
I look at Scarlett and smile. “Yeah, come on. Let’s get a coffee.”
As if he’s invisible, and we haven’t heard a thing he’s said, we turn and walk off down the mall toward the Espresso coffee shop.
Behind us, Tamati calls out something, but I ignore him, concentrating on the feel of the bags in my hand. A handsome man has just bought me a gorgeous ball gown. And when I asked him, You think I’m beautiful? He replied, Of course you’re beautiful. Kingi thinks I’m beautiful. Nothing else matters.
The other two girls catch up with us, and together we walk into the cafe.
“I have to say,” Lisa says as we approach the cake cabinet, “that was the most elegant put-down I think I’ve ever seen.”
“Very nicely done,” Scarlett says. “He didn’t deserve a retort.”
“That’s what I thought.” To my surprise, though, I’m trembling. It’s the shock of seeing him, and his comments stung. We were close once, and the knowledge that he wants to hurt me makes tears prick my eyes.
She notices and rubs my arm. “Come on. A cup of coffee and something sweet to eat, and you’ll be right as rain.”
She’s right. I drink my coffee and polish off a chocolate muffin, and the girls talk about all the ball gowns and the other things I’ve bought, and soon I feel a lot better.
Tamati and I are done. He will gradually lose his power to hurt me, especially once I meet someone else.
I think about Kingi, and the way he kissed me outside the restaurant.
It was just for show, Chessie. Just for show.
*
The week passes quickly, mainly because I’m super busy at work.
It’s odd, but when I first took over from Dad I felt as if I was floundering all the time; now, though, I’m starting to find my feet.
Kingi has given me a few tips to sort out our finances, and the books are in order for the first time in years.
I’ve paid all the outstanding bills, and the ride-on mower is up and working again.
I’ve talked to each member of our staff, and everyone seems happy with their work and the way I’m running things.
Although I’m scared of jinxing it, it’s going well.