Chapter 11 New Dress #2
Paula puts me in six more dresses, each of them beautiful in their own way, but just not right.
Jonah is, unsurprisingly, gaga over each one.
The last one I try on has a double-high slit and a V cut so low it almost reaches my belly button.
It’s red and flowy, and Paula confirms it was a Jonah pick he snuck in without my approval.
Wholly inappropriate for a wedding. The satisfaction of not showing him is too great, so I snap a picture inside the fitting room for myself.
I look hot as sin, and I want to memorialize this moment.
When I step out onto the platform and show him the eighth gown, deep indigo and velvet with long, tight sleeves, I’m sweating in the way I always do when trying on clothes for more than ten minutes.
As pretty as this dress is, it doesn’t fit right, and I can’t envision myself in it even with heavy alterations.
What I see before me is blotchy skin underneath a face full of freckles.
Sweat trickles down my neck and forehead as I throw up my mane in a hair tie I had around my wrist.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asks. “You don’t look like you like this one.”
I finish tying the bun at the top of my head before I sigh. “I’m just warm.”
Somehow the boy materializes a bottle of water, and I’m downing the ice-cold refreshment in a few gulps.
“Is there a fan we could set up?” he asks Paula.
Today, for the first time, Paula looks unsure as she thinks. Before she can even say um, Jonah’s racing for the register and asking the staff.
Within a minute, he’s carrying a standup fan that has clearly seen better days. “They found this in the storage room,” he smiles brightly.
“Here,” Paula gestures. “Let’s get you out of this dress and cool down in the fitting room.”
I hike the skirt up all the way to my knees so my legs can breathe, and sigh. “Thank you,” I say to both of them, lingering a little extra on Jonah.
Paula plugs the fan in, and I pray the relic turns on. She pushes a button, and it whirs to life in the spacious room. I take off the dress faster than on prom night, and the breeze washes over me, giving sweet relief.
Paula apologizes for the warmth of the room, but I reassure her it’s fine; sweating is just something I expect in fitting rooms.
She busies herself with hanging the dress and organizing the others while my body temperature returns to normal and the sweat evaporates. I check my underarms and find they’re dry as a bone thanks to my extra-strength deodorant, and I chuckle to myself.
I shouldn’t be so happy over a fan. It’s just a fan. It’s just a little relief in a situation I could have easily ignored. But it’s not about the relief; it’s about the act itself. I was hot, and Jonah just... fixed it.
I didn’t have to ask him—he saw I was uncomfortable, and he… Why are there butterflies in my belly?
With skin back to a more pleasant level of moisture, Paula helps me into a variation of the first dress.
Same high slit, silky black fabric, and structured bodice, and I stop breathing.
I am genuinely stunned, not because the dress cinches me too tight.
Instead of my boobs being on full display like a Vegas headliner, they’re tastefully framed, the fabric sweeping over one shoulder in a way that feels almost..
. regal. I’ve always avoided one-shoulder dresses—my tits are famously asymmetrical and usually need more targeted support.
But this dress? The dress holds them perfectly, in harmony, as if it were made just for me.
“Renée,” Paula drawls with a smile and fluffs my skirt. “This is...”
“Perfect.” I finish. “How much is this?”
“He told me I couldn’t tell you.”
My eyes meet the back of my head.
She smiles. “Let’s show him.”
When I step out, I can’t help but match Jonah’s wide grin. He covers his mouth and bites his knuckles when I step onto the platform. “Come on,” he exclaims. “This has to be the one, right? Oh my God, I can’t even look at you, you’re too pretty.”
My dumb heart races like a schoolgirl who holds a valentine and a pink carnation from her secret crush she’s been writing about in her diary.
How dare he do this to me?
But I do feel pretty. With sweaty, coiled strands of hair springing around my neck, I feel so damn pretty.
“I love it.”
Marveling, Jonah stands beside me, and even though I’m standing six inches up, he still has at least another six inches on me. “I love it too,” he says. “But if you can’t decide which one, we can get them all.”
A surprising little giggle bursts from me. “You are not buying me more than one dress.”
“Please?” he begs.
“No,” I say in a firm but well-meaning tone.
“Is this the one?” Paula asks.
“Yes, I think it is. It just depends on whether they can alter it fast enough. I need it by next Friday.”
Paula grimaces. “Oh, alterations usually take a month, but we can always add a rush charge—”
“Do that,” Jonah says, cutting her off. “Whatever it costs, as long as she has the dress by next Friday.”
Within twenty minutes, I’m measured, and the dress is marked and pinned until the in-house tailor and I are both satisfied with the new length and adjustments. By the time I’m done with them, Jonah is waiting for me at the front of the store with a grin.
“Are we all paid up?”
“It’s all taken care of,” he says. He holds the door open for me. “Now let’s go get you some new shoes and a lingerie set.”
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
He gasps. “Professor Wilde, that’s a bad word.”
“You’re not buying me lingerie. We agreed on a dress and my hair.”
“We agreed on an outfit,” he argues.
“What’s the point of buying me lingerie if you’re never going to see it?”
He taps his temple and narrows his eyes at me. “I’ll know you’re wearing it under that dress.”
“I’d sooner burn it.”
“Yeah, but you’d be thinking about me when you watch it go up in flames.”
“And wish you were roasting over said flames.”
He flashes a devilish smile. “Kinky.”