Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
She carries it like it’s the most precious thing. Past the bottom, I can just make out a fringe of something shimmery and red inside.
Red dress.
Just like Emma, I think with a cold dread that makes my skin crawl. Or maybe I’m just cold.
The summer heat has finally broken and there’s a crisp bite of autumn in the air, but that’s not the real reason I shrivel up.
“You mean they really sent me a designer dress?” I ask cheerfully.
“I wouldn’t make a fuss out of it if they didn’t,” she says dryly, laying the bag on the bed. “I do believe it’s Mrs. Arrendell’s. She’ll never wear a dress twice, so it’d go to waste if she didn’t give them to gorgeous young women who need a little dolling up.”
“No, that’s not weird,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Invite me to a fancy party in his mother’s dress...”
Janelle gives me a shrewd look. “I suppose it would be strange, if this were a date with young Ulysses,” she teases knowingly. “Is it a date? I see the way he looks at you, hon.”
Revulsion hits like a sucker punch.
Just as strong as the rising urge to run out into the night, find Lucas, and throw myself into his arms.
But no.
I could never want someone like Ulysses Arrendell.
He’s a pale, dead ember to the fire of Lucas Graves.
I clear my throat, hoping she didn’t notice the little falter in my smile.
“I really don’t think it’s a date, Janelle. More like... I don’t know. Schmoozing the new teacher? Honestly, I think Ulysses is just trying to be nice after all the bad things that’ve happened.”
“Oh, yes, he’s like that. He’s a kind boy behind all his flash.” She clucks her tongue and fiddles with the zipper on the garment bag. “Now, let’s get you pretty and dressed up. Their butler called and I think he said they’ll be sending a car for you in about twenty minutes.”
Any response I might’ve had dries up in my mouth as she unzips the bag and exposes the dress waiting inside.
No matter how weirded out I am, the dress is drop-dead gorgeous. Strapless with a scalloped bodice, a deep shade of crimson.
From chest to hips, the fabric is shirred in a wrap style with subtle gemstones studded throughout. They’re as small as glitter chips and so carefully laid they’re only visible when they catch the light.
The skirt that flares out from the tight sheath comes in rippling layers, cut so that when I put it on, it’ll skim my knees in the front, but sheet down around me in a train that nearly goes to the floor in the back.
I feel too ordinary for a dress like that.
And if I’m going to be beautiful wearing it, Ulysses Arrendell definitely isn’t the one I want admiring me.
Another girl in a red dress.
I shiver, curling my arms around myself.
I guess Janelle takes that shiver for awe or nerves because she gives me an indulgent smile. “Let me help you into it, dear. The zipper in the back might be a bit tricky.”
“A-ah, yes. Thank you.”
I let her coax me out of my towel.
She teases me about my sleek lacy underthings, but I don’t really hear her.
I’m prickling with goose bumps as the dress slips over me in silky layers, then zips up tight as a binding cage.
My heart keeps pounding.
For the first time, I’m actually scared.
But when have I ever let fear stop me from doing something bold?
Once she’s helped me adjust the fit, Janelle holds me at arm’s length with a fond smile.
“There you go,” she says. “Pretty as a picture!” She turns me gently toward the mirror. “Have a look.”
I don’t want to.
For some ungodly reason, I don’t want to really see myself in this dress.
Maybe I’m worried I’ll see Emma’s face staring back at me.
I instinctively balk, but before I have to explain myself, there’s a loud honk from downstairs.
Janelle releases my shoulders, glancing at the window. “Oh, I believe your ride is here!”
“I’d better get moving.” I offer her a smile and snatch my purse, slipping the phone inside it. “Thanks for the help. You’re a dream.”
“Of course, Delilah. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be a princess for one night.”
Bless her heart.
I mean it.
Only, I don’t feel like a princess as I scramble away. More like a soldier marching into combat.
I flash her another smile, then gather up my skirts, slip my feet into my strappy black heels, and dart outside.
I’m expecting a town car waiting at the end of the walk. More likely just a black sedan with blackout windows—I don’t know, I have a strange idea of what rich people ride around in.
I’m definitely not expecting the full-blown stretch limousine parked on the curb, complete with a suited driver wearing white gloves. He stands next to the back door, just waiting for me.