Page 109 of Rafferty's Rules
‘I was thinking more about the colour when I picked up that one. Very autumnal, plum. This being autumn and all.’
‘It’s still as hot as blazes out,’ I respond.
‘Yeah, but just you wait. Another week and the mornings will be so cool we’ll all be complaining. Night times, too. It’ll be time for fire in the hearth and for us all to dig out our woollies and uggs.
‘What about the bit in between morning and evening?’ I ask, stepping out of the plum dress.
‘Beautiful,’ she replies in that accent I love to hear.Bea-ew-di-ful.‘It’s the best time of year for a wedding.’
I get back to the business of finding something to wear for said wedding, and every time I hand out a dress, Sally seems to hand me another back. I get into and out of some truly terrible and fascinating dresses. Some are clearly made for nineteen-year old’s, some that look a little moremother of the bridestyle. One or two look like they were passed through a cage of wolverines before they made it here. One seems to be made of only one long, fat ribbon that I have to sort of origami around my body to make it cover all pertinent bits. Whatever, it makes me look like a sexy mummy. And a sexy mummy is still a wrapped-up corpse. I give up and refuse to step out of the dressing room in that one, too.
‘Not everyone can get the hang of theGamila,’ the sales assistant assures Sally from where she stands on the other side of the door, no doubt protecting her commission. It’s just a shame she sounds a little patronising, though. Like she could have made a better ancient Egyptian mascot out of herself, at the ripe young age of sixty-five. I kick the fat ribbon under the door in a nest of itself, the hanger hitching a ride on top.
Finally, I am down to two dresses. A midnight blue number with a strappy back. It’s tasteful and understated, but maybe a little drab. It’s notsounappealing once I step into it, and Sally likes it, too, though I voice my desire to avoid a dark colour if I can help it. Afterall, it’s a daytime wedding not a funeral.
The last dress is the one I settle on. It’s cream with a tiny flower print. A high halter neck, it leaves my shoulders bare, the tie trailing the length of the back, which is sort of open, split to the back of my waist. The skirt is cut on the bias and it’s just so feminine and gorgeous and I can’t wait for Rafferty to see it.
‘That’s the one,’ Sally says when I step out. I agree wholeheartedly, running my hands over the soft fabric. Even at this point in the day, my agreement has nothing to do with exhaustion. It’s all the dress. It’s beautiful. And I’m buying it. Kind of.
‘It just suits you to a T,’ Sally announces. ‘And you won’t have any problem with a bra with that one.
‘Yeah,’ I agree as I look down. ‘I’ll just need a couple of Band Aids to cover my nipples.’
‘Ouch!’ Sally exclaims, covering her own ample chest as though my words had caused her pain. ‘I’m sure we can find you a better remedy than that.’
‘Just look at how well it accents her lovely eyes!’ the attendant gushes when she comes around the corner to check on me. ‘That’s the one, all right.’
The dress is placed behind the counter while we pick out shoes, eventually settling on a nude pair of heeled sandals. And we’re done, thanks to Rafferty’s credit card.
I’m still feeling kind of defeated by the whole process when my phone buzzes with a text from Rafferty. Turning the screen away from Sally, you know, just in case, I open the message.
You’ll look stunning in whatever you pick. But you’ll look even better when I peel you out of it.
Defeat turns to triumph in an instant. Desire has it’s own sort of power, doesn’t it?
Chapter 33
ALYSSA
‘Has anyone seen Edie’s ballet flats?’
A frazzled looking Chastity almost bursts into the kitchen, baby Maximillian, glued to her hip.
‘Orh,’ I answer, which is the kind of noise you make when a makeup artist is painting your lips, causing Chelle, the makeup artist to pause in the act of making me presentable.
‘You can answer if you like,’ she says patiently, moving the thin brush from the vicinity of my mouth. I turn to Chastity who just looks stunning in a lilac sheath dress, a cute feathery fascinator clipped into her blonde curls. And her son looks every inch a fifth generation Maximillian dressed as he is in a pair of stone coloured pants, a lightweight navy blazer, and a child-sized cravat. He even has a tiny matching pocket square, one that he is dribbling on.
‘Sorry, I was trying to say no, I hadn’t, but now that I think of it, when Chelle started my makeup, Edie had both shoes on when she headed into the laundry room, chasing one of the dogs.’
‘Right. I’ll go and have a look in there,’ she answers decisively. ‘Your hair is gorgeous, by the way. And Chelle, when you have a minute, will you email me the colour of that lipstick, sweetie?’
‘For sure,’ Chelle answers, before continuing with my beautification. ‘I’m gonna do a little work for her when she comes to Aus next. She’s gonna bring her camera,’ she adds with a wicked gleam. ‘I only hope I don’t end up concealing spotty backsides. I wanna see the goods.’
‘Found it,’ Chas calls, dashing back through the room. ‘Honestly, who knew girls could be so much trouble.’
‘It looks gorgeous out there, have you seen?’ she asks, pausing for a beat and referring to the garden where the ceremony will be held.
‘Umph.’ And by that, I mean yes. I have seen it and it looks stunning.
