“How do you know?”
“I guess I don’t know for sure, but it seems like a good way to jinx myself—buy a wedding dress when I have no idea if I’ll ever get married.”
The thought of her walking down the aisle toward some asshole who didn’t deserve her jumped into my head. I fucking hated it. “What about wearing it at our engagement party?”
“A wedding gown?”
“You don’t have to get a big fluffy one. Get something more simple.”
She smiled, but still hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Cosette Lavigne sounds like a French name,” I said. “Wasn’t that what you told Mimi? Your dress was French?”
Felicity laughed. “I did say that.”
“Then it’s meant to be. Come on.”
She groaned but let me drag her into the shop. Inside, the air was chilly and smelled like perfume. A saleswoman with jet-black hair and chiseled cheekbones approached with a quick glance at our jeans and hats. “Hello. Can I help you?”
Suddenly, I had no idea what to say, and I looked helplessly at Felicity.
“I’m—I’m looking for a dress,” she said.
The woman tilted her head. “A wedding dress?”
“No. I mean, yes, but no.” She took a breath and closed her eyes a moment. “Sorry. The dress would be for an engagement party.”
The woman seemed to relax a little. “Wonderful. Congratulations. Did you have a style in mind?”
“Something a little more casual than what’s in the window. White is fine, but no ball gown or long train or anything. The party is outdoors, on a patio.”
“And will you need to leave with the dress today?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re going home tomorrow. But if you don’t have anything, I—”
The woman held up a hand as she looked Felicity over head to toe. “I have something. We’ll need to go off the rack, of course, but I’m seeing something short, perhaps tulle with pearl beading, something to emphasize your waistline, maybe a full skirt, a statement sleeve. Give me a moment.”
“Thank you.”
The woman disappeared into the back and Felicity and I looked at each other.
“What the hell is a statement sleeve?” I asked. “Is this dress going to talk?”
“I think it means the sleeves will be big and dramatic.”
“Interesting.”
Twenty minutes later, Felicity stood on a raised platform in front of a half-hexagon of mirrors, up on her toes as if she was wearing high heels. She couldn’t stop smiling. The dress was pretty, but I couldn’t have told you one thing about it other than it hit her above the knee, had short （big and dramatic） puffy sleeves, no back, and made her glow with happiness.
“Like it was made for you.” The saleswoman—Olga was her name—shook her head. “It doesn’t even need alteration, I can’t believe it.”
“It’s so pretty,” Felicity gushed, turning to check out the back over her shoulder. She’d removed her hat and put her hair up in a ponytail on the top of her head, sort of like Pebbles Flintstone.
“Let me see if I have a shoe for you to try on. What size are you?”
“Seven,” said Felicity. “But that’s okay, I don’t know if—”
“I’ll be back.” Olga disappeared into the back again.
I’d been standing back, out of the way, but now I moved closer. Met her eyes in the mirror. “What do you think?”
“I think we should get out of here while we can. This is nuts.”
I grabbed her arm to keep her right where she was. “Or it makes perfect sense,” I said with a smile. “Both things can be true.”
She shook her head. “Not this time. It’s too much.”
“Too much money?”
“Just—too much.”
“What do you mean?”
She closed her eyes. “I guess I’m getting nervous that the line between real and make-believe is growing a little blurry. Know what I mean?”
Of course I did. I was the one blurring it. But it just felt so fucking good to give her everything she wanted, to be able to spoil her for this short time. “Felicity, it’s just a dress.”
She turned to face me. Seconds ticked by. “Is it?”
I have to admit, I hesitated too. “Yes.”
Her mouth opened, and I thought she was going to call me out on the lie. But suddenly, blood streamed from her nostrils, and she clapped her hands over her nose, her eyes wild with fear. “Shoot!”