You only live once.
Hooking a finger through the tops of the hangers, I grab the dresses and dart toward the bathroom. “On it!”
Several hours later, I slip out of my sweater and my jeans, kicking them off when they pool and bind my feet.
I’ve been counting down to this moment ever since trying the dresses on this morning. Nearly twelve hours later and I’m still struggling to believe it.
We stuck around home today. We chatted with Grandma for a while as she and Mom did their best to embarrass me by telling Simon stories from my childhood.
We put together a winter wonderland puzzle and played Christmas Bingo, where Simon found out that Grandma’s highly competitive.
Fabric swishes as I remove the navy blue dress from the hanger.
I step into the center of the flowing skirt and tug the silk and lace bodice up and over my shoulders. Then I crane my arm at an awkward angle until I manage to get the zipper in the back all the way up to the top.
Spinning around with a glitzy swish, I turn and beam at my reflection. The halter top gathers at a beaded band that tucks in my waist. The silky rich fabric of the skirt billows and floats around my ankles.
I’d almost managed to convince myself the dress wasn’t as magical as I’d built up in my head, but it’s every bit as breathtaking this time around, too.
I’m the night sky, and I’ve always been a huge fan of anything that glitters.
Better yet, I feel powerful.
Who ever would’ve guessed I could get all that from a dress?
I gather my hair up into an elegant updo, pinning my curls in place with careful precision. It takes me about twenty minutes to do my makeup, and after I’ve applied highlighter to my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, I drift the brush over my collarbones.
My lips, typically bare save a coat of lip gloss, are now painted a deep, sultry red.
I hardly recognize myself.
And for the first time in a long time-maybe even ever-I feel like I deserve to stand out.
Simon gave me that. Along with the dress. My excitement over this evening builds as I gather the sides of my skirts in my hands and prepare to make my grand entrance into the living room.
My drool-worthy fiancé’s seated on the couch, waiting, but he stands up as I approach.
Like I said, I’m noisy. Or the dress is, anyway.
But the moment his eyes land on me, there’s a heated flare within the green.
My skin warms beneath his gaze, humming with unspoken promises. Biting my lower lip, I give him a twirl so he can get the full effect. “Well? How do I look?”
Victoria
The night air buzzes with energy, a mix of laughter and muffled music filtering through the walls of the town’s most exclusive nightclub and bar, the
Velvet Lariat.
A little bit cowboy, a little bit luxury-it’s one of the most popular, exclusive places in town.
Most high school reunions would be held in the gymnasium of the school, but leave it to the people I went to school with to take things to the next level.
A long line of guests snakes along the velvet ropes, chattering excitedly as they inch closer to the entrance. The glow of neon lights bathes the sidewalk in a soft, electric blue, and above the doors, a massive banner hangs: WELCOME BACK, CLASS OF 2015!
I stop short, gripping my clutch tightly. A nostalgic heaviness settles over me, thick as the humid Texas air. This reunion is a far cry from the bonfires and house parties I was never invited to, and yet I’m struggling to feel like I belong, same as always.
I inhale a deep breath of the cool night air and smooth a hand down the bodice of my gown. My silver heels click against the sidewalk, and the beaded embellishments on my dress shimmer beneath the streetlights.
As we were parking the car, Simon got an important phone call. I told him I would go save us a place in the long line, assuring him I’d be totally fine. This was my hometown after all.
Of course, I’d also been buoyed by that moment in the living room when I’d spun and asked how I looked.
“Absolutely breathtaking,” he’d said in a gravelly rasp that made it clear he was affected.
Thank God, I thought.
I’m not the only one catching serious feelings.
“It’s not too much?” I asked, smoothing a hand down the bejeweled front. As much as I loved the dress, and as pretty as I felt, I had a tendency to second-guess myself.
Simon had taken my hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a princely kiss. “You’ve always been stunning, and the dress highlights how gorgeous you are. I’m one lucky guy.”
And I was the lucky girl getting treated like Cinderella at a ball for one night.
I’m a star, I’m a star, I’m a star.
Keeping my chin lifted, I move toward the entrance and scan for familiar faces. They’re everywhere-people I grew up with, people I used to be close to, and of course, people I’d rather never see again.
I swear the crowd murmurs, heads turning as I pass, my name being whispered behind me like I’m currently being photographed by the paparazzi.
Yep, here I am. Victoria Barron, the girl who never quite fit in.
That’s right, I’ve just arrived looking like I own the place. Deal with it.
I’m so bold in my head.
At least the line’s moving fairly quickly. In no time, I’m almost to the burly bouncer with the shaved head who’s managing the crowd.
See? Nothing to it.
I hardly just finish the relieved thought when a grating, tragically recognizable voice rakes fingernails over my skin. “You’re telling me that farm girl is coming too?”
I don’t want to look, but it’s already too late.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.