In Waves | ✔️

64 | ceilings

When Matt leads me into an Upper East Side dress store, I feel as if we're walking into another universe from the bustling street we just left.

Chandeliers cast a warm glow over the store, illuminating the stunning dresses and gowns that line the walls. The air is heavy with the smell of fabric and expensive perfumes, of style and sophistication.

As a willowy sales assistant in a tailored suit approaches us, I tell Matt that we don't need to be here. That I already have a dress for the gala. Although, one glimpse at these exquisite dresses and I suddenly feel like the fanciest one I'm borrowing from my mom is now incredibly mediocre. He brushes me off, insisting that I keep the appointment. With a peck on the cheek, he tells me he'll be back in an hour, and then he's out the door.

"You must be Ms. DeMarco," the woman says through a dazzling smile. I gauge her to be in her mid-thirties, and with her sleek strawberry-blonde hair and unearthly bone structure, she looks like she should be modeling in Paris. "I'm Elodie, and I'll be assisting you today."

"Hi. Call me Lia, please," I say, fighting my tongue from getting tangled. The formality of this experience is already overwhelming me.

"Lia. That's lovely." She gently holds her hands together. "Well, let's get started, shall we? Mr. Benson has told me all about the gala you're attending and the dress code, so I've set aside some styles you might be interested in. Would you like some sparkling water before we start? Or a latte?"

I decline the offer, and she guides me to another section of the store. We pass by glittering dresses donned in beads and delicate lace and tulle. I can't help touching a few, soft fabric slipping between my fingers, exuding elegance and grace.

I look over the array of dresses Elodie has set aside, ranging from midnight black to blush pink, and I choose the ones that catch my eye. I've never been to a store where the assistants assist to the point of actually dressing you. I suppose a lot of these dresses have layers and hidden zippers and buttons, but I'm still awkwardly covering myself as much as I can while she helps me into each dress.

Elodie is blunt but kind, offering advice on which styles suit my body, which ones highlight my best features, which colors suit my complexion. When I step up on the platform in the fifth dress, a form-fitting silky black number with an open back, I see myself freeze in the mirror.

I have exactly the same feeling I had when I tried on that lingerie Rachel bought for me. Like it's too mature, too risqué. Like it's not even me I'm looking at. So much has happened since then, but I still feel like I'm not ready to wear something like this.

"Oh, wow, that is gorgeous on you," Elodie says, circling me with glinting eyes. "Dare I say we've found the one?"

"I... I don't know. How much is it?"

Her heart-shaped lips break into a smile. "In order for you to be objective about your choice, Mr. Benson has instructed me not to disclose prices."

"Of course he has," I grumble, smoothing the silk over my waist.

Elodie steps onto the platform, eyeing me up and down. "Maybe you'll see the full effect if you don't stand like a hunchback, hm?" I laugh as she adjusts my shoulders so they're straight, my chest pushing out more, but I automatically fold in on myself again. Elodie gives me a measuring look. "I understand being a little self-conscious having a stranger help you dress, but in this? You're not still self-conscious, are you?"

I shrug, my face starting to burn up. "Can't help it."

An amused air comes over her. "Darling, you've been blessed with a figure that many women would kill for. No shame in flaunting it."