I take a deep breath. He’s right. It’s just a night. I’m getting ahead of myself. Nothing has to change; I just need to think of this as a fun game of make-believe. Pretend. It’s okay to enjoy something when you know it’s nothing but a game. Easy-peasy. I can do this.
For the next ten minutes, Dylan and I go through each of the dresses he selected, and it’s seriously hard to choose my favorite because they are all so beautiful. In the end, I pick one that reminds me of bubbling champagne. Tonight is not quite as fancy as an award show, but it’s also not casual enough for my Juicy sweatpants. My dress is a tea-length bodycon with long sleeves, a sheer glittering overlay, and a champagne-colored silk lining. The most glorious part is the back. The silk lining scoops low down my spine, and the sheer overlay dotted with fine diamond-looking sequins spans across my back. It’s sexy and classy at the same time. My mom won’t gasp in horror if she sees it in the tabloids tomorrow, which is always a perk.
For my hair, Dylan wants to leave it down. He adds all sorts of products until my curls are sleek, shining, and springy. He parts my hair far on the right side and pins the other half away from my face with a diamond-studded clip. I’m really hoping those diamonds are fake. He gives me a soft eyeshadow look with fierce cat-eye eyeliner and a nude pink lip.
When I look in the mirror, decked out in a glamorous gown, designer makeup, and hair styled within an inch of its life, I still see me, and it makes my heart swell. At least I don’t feel like I’m putting on a whole different skin to go with Nathan to this event. Everything else might be fake, but not me.
Dylan pops up over my shoulder, and a big cheesy smile stretches across his face. “I stuffed the lipstick tube in your purse, so when Nathan ruins it, you’ll have more.”
“Nathan is not going to—” I stop myself, because yeah, any boyfriend who saw me like this would definitely ruin my lipstick. “…be able to keep his hands off me. Good call.”
“Just don’t let him touch your hair! It’s perfect and if he messes it up, I will destroy him.”
An image of slender Dylan in my Juicy sweatpants challenging mountainous Nathan to a boxing match pops into my head, and honestly it’s exactly the kind of distraction I need right now. My hands are shaking and I feel like I’m going to puke.
“Thank you for all of this, Dylan. You did an incredible job.”
He waves me off. “You’re an easy canvas. And I should be the one thanking you. Your boyfriend is paying me more than I should allow. In fact, I feel a little dirty accepting it.” He pooches his lips out in thought before a mischievous smile curves them. “Okay, I’m over it. I’m going to get out of here before he arrives so you two can have a moment by yourselves before the craziness of tonight. Text me later and tell me how it goes!” He kisses my cheek and disappears to grab his bags and leave.
I’m still standing in the mirror staring and trying not to have a panic attack when I hear the door shut behind Dylan. And then a moment later it opens again. My heart beats double time because I know who just stepped inside. He doesn’t call out for me, but I hear his dress shoes clicking across the hardwood floor as he approaches my room. I can’t bring myself to look away from the mirror. It’s not fight or flight—it’s freezing. I so desperately want to see someone reflecting back at me who feels out of place and all wrong, but no. Everything feels right, and lovely, and exciting. I’m scared.
I’m scared because I want to go more than anything.
I’m scared because I’m so looking forward to walking beside Nathan tonight and holding his hand.
I’m scared because all these feelings I’ve kept at bay for so long are pelting me like a hailstorm.
The clicking grows closer, and I can see Nathan in my peripheral now, standing outside my bathroom door, staring at me. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I.
The air gets hot and thick as he steps into the bathroom and fills the space behind me. Now, he’s reflecting back at me too, wearing a light grey suit that fits snugly around his biceps and shoulders. His square jaw is clean shaven, and I want to drink whatever cologne he’s wearing. His black eyes hold mine in the mirror, and I can feel his heat radiating through the sheer back of my dress.