23. Emzee

EMZEE

CHAPTER 23

“O ooh, how about this one?” Tori squealed, whirling around with yet another voluminous monstrosity of tulle and seed pearls on a hanger.

“Oh, um, wow,” I said, trying to sound not-so-horrified. “It’s so…Cinderella.”

Tori frowned. “Too ball-gowny?”

“Everything you love is too ball-gowny, Tor,” Brooklyn said from an adjacent rack.

“She can at least give it a try,” Tori pointed out, waving over one of the shop employees. “Can you please add this one to the dressing room? Thank you so much.”

“Speaking of which,” Brooklyn said, “I think it’s time you got in there, Em.”

My regular Vault Lunch with The Wives had been cancelled, my sisters-in-law having decided to forgo our usual date in favor of whisking me off to try on “dream” wedding dresses. The wedding dresses of their dreams, apparently. Not that I was surprised.

Michelle, Tori’s stepmother, had managed to secure a private appointment for the three of us at Blue, one of the most exclusive bridal salons in Chicago. That meant the shop was closed to everyone in the city except me, Tori, and Brooklyn, and that for the next few hours, all of the employees were at our beck and call.

My anxiety was through the roof.

Even though I knew there were no wrong choices—all the dresses were beautiful, and my sisters-in-law were nothing but sweet and encouraging—I’d approached the outing with trepidation. Regardless of the fact that the wedding was fake, the urge to find exactly the right dress was real. I’d have basically a million pairs of eyes on me during the ceremony (and after, via the tabloids and society pages), and I had to look perfect. But I still wanted to look like me.

Problem being, there wasn’t a single scrap of black fabric to be found in the bridal shop.

I knew, of course, that I would be wearing a white dress. I wasn’t interested in rocking the proverbial boat, especially not on my wedding day. But the act of actually showing up at Blue to try on dresses today was forcing me to acknowledge the reality of the situation.

In a matter of months, I was going to be marrying Ford Malone. In a white dress. In front of our families, our friends, and the social elite of Chicago.

And as uncomfortable as I’d be in my head and my heart all day, I couldn’t stand the idea of also being uncomfortable in whichever dress I ended up having to wear for hours upon end. Nor my shoes. And what about my veil? Did people still expect brides to wear veils these days?

“Come on, Em, this is only round one,” Brooklyn coaxed, wrapping her arm around my shoulders to hustle me toward the dressing room. “You’re going to be doing this for hours.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said dryly.

Down the hallway, I could see a pedestal surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors, which I gathered I was meant to endure each time I tried on a dress. Meanwhile, Tori had settled her lovely, very pregnant self into a comfortably overstuffed chair to wait for the fashion show, as employees flitted about with glasses of champagne and dress clips and measuring tapes. Oh, joy.

My eyes actually bugged out when I saw the dressing room that had been prepared for me. At least twenty dresses were hanging from the hooks in there, and the spacious changing room looked like it had just suffered a literal explosion of tulle, satin, and lace.

“Oh boy,” I murmured, my stomach knotting with overwhelm as I tried to take it all in.

I fought the impulse to run from the store. To run from Chicago. To run from this whole mess that I’d agreed to be involved in.

“I know,” Brooklyn said. “It’s a lot. But we have all day. Enjoy it!”

She looked so excited that I knew there was no way I could escape.

One of the Blue employees followed me into the dressing room and immediately got to work unlacing the first dress for me. It was one that Tori had chosen, exactly the kind of frothy, princess-y, over-the-top concoction that would look great on her—but as I stood there in my underwear, I could already tell that it wasn’t right for me.

I’d been told to wear undergarments that could work with a variety of dresses, so I had on a nude thong and a strapless, low-back corset bra. I’d also been advised to wear heels that were about the same height as what I’d wear for the wedding, so I had my special occasion stilettos on, though I planned to switch into flats as soon as the official ceremony was over. Still, I was teetering dangerously on those heels as I stepped into the skirt, and I had to grab onto the salesgirl’s arm for support to make sure I didn’t accidentally tear something expensive. Once I was situated, the hoisting began.

The salesgirl tugged the dress up over my hips and then instructed me to hold the bodice against my chest as she laced me in from the back. It took almost ten minutes to get the whole thing on and fastened, and she hadn’t even laced the corset completely.

I tried to turn around, hitting the salesgirl with the enormous skirts as I did. She gamely leapt out of the way as I waddled out the door, following behind me while I propelled my poofy self down the hall. The dress made quite the rustling sound. And God, it weighed a fricking ton. The thought of spending an entire night in this thing, when I could barely move, was like a nightmare. And I hadn’t even seen how it looked.

The salesgirl presented me to Tori and Brooklyn with a dramatic, “Ta-da!”

Tori let out a gasp of delight as I trudged over and got some help stepping up onto the pedestal so I could finally get a look at myself.

I had to admit, I was a vision. A vision of a giant cupcake.

“What do you think?” Tori asked, hands clasped to her chest.

All I saw in the mirror were piles of white fluff, shimmering sequins, and embroidered lace. The dress overwhelmed everything. Including me. Sure, my boobs looked great, but that was the gift of big tits and a corset. They were practically overflowing, and I had a feeling that if I bent over, or breathed in too deeply, there was a real possibility I’d spill right out of the top.

“It’s very, um, prom queen-ish,” Brooklyn said carefully as I turned a little to the left and then the right. “What do you think, Tori?”

“It’s a gorgeous dress,” Tori said, her eyes shining. “What do you think, Em?”

Frowning, I shook my head. I had to nip this in the bud, or else I’d be stuffing myself into these kinds of princess dresses until midnight. “It is a gorgeous dress, don’t get me wrong, but I feel like I’m swimming in all this fabric. I’m just too short for these styles. I mean, look at me. I look like a…a glittery pumpkin.”

Brooklyn let out a snort, and then both of us were laughing, even as Tori pouted. “Try one of mine next,” Brooklyn suggested. “Pretty please? I’m dying to see one of them on you.”

“Sure,” I said, attempting to sound upbeat. “Coming right up.”

I shuffled back to the dressing room, sighing with relief when I was unlaced from the dress. The salesgirl pulled a fresh gown off of one of the hooks and handed it to me, then left me to it. I saw right away that the dress Brooklyn had chosen would require far less help than the one I’d just stepped out of. Mainly because there was practically nothing there.

Typical Brooklyn. Being a model herself, she always loved things that were avant-garde, fashion forward, and devastatingly sexy.

Though some were rather concerningly sexy. Slipping out of my strapless bra, I wiggled into a dress that was borderline obscene—the upper portion was sheer, flesh-toned mesh with strategically placed strips of raw silk to cover my nipples, and the skirt was thigh-skimmingly tight all the way to the knee, where it spilled into an asymmetrical hem with a ruffle. It was stunning, and would have looked amazing on Brooklyn. On me, though…

My phone buzzed at that moment, and I dug it out of my bag to find I’d gotten a text from Ford.

How’s it going? he’d asked.

It is, in fact, going , I texted back. I feel very sorry for the employees of Blue. My sisters-in-law have them running around in circles. I myself am about ready to have a heart attack .

“Do you need any help in there?” the Blue employee asked from outside the door.

“No,” I said, dropping my phone back in my bag. “I’m coming out.”

I had to take mincing little penguin steps all the way to the pedestal, thanks to how tight the skirt was, and I wondered if the side seams would survive me actually sitting down.

This time it was Brooklyn that let out a gasp of excitement.

“Oh my God, Emzee, it’s fucking incredible!” she exclaimed, hopping up off her chair to come over and poke at me, trailing her hand down the shimmering skirt fabric. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s certainly…different,” Tori said, obviously trying to sound impartial.

“I think there’s a bit too much side boob going on,” I said, narrowing my eyes at my reflection. “And too much top and bottom boob, as well. There’s no way I can wear a bra with this dress.”

“That’s what they make fashion tape for,” Brooklyn offered. “It’s double-sided and super sticky. It works.”

“Mm,” I said, glancing at the Blue employee, whose expression remained neutral. “The thing is, I’d rather literally die than have Ford’s mother see a wardrobe malfunction happen if the bodice shifts and exposes a full-on nipple on my way up the aisle.”

Tori shot Brooklyn an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to agree. It’s really pretty, but it’s also…distracting? With Emzee’s chest—no offense, Em—it’s impossible not to stare at the whole boob area. And those silk shreds just make it even more of an eye magnet.”

Pouting, Brooklyn let out a sigh. “Fine. I can’t argue with that. I concede.”

Off I minced, back to the dressing room. A different Blue salesgirl was waiting for me there, a younger woman I’d taken note of earlier thanks to the black rose tattooed on her wrist.

“Marie has to go on break, but I’m here to help,” she told me. “Would you like to take another turn around the store and pick a few more dresses? It sounds like you haven’t really had a chance to find one you like. Which is kind of the whole idea, you know?”

“Yes. My God.” I nodded, letting out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. This is all par for the course. Usually it’s mothers-in-law, though, and they tend to be a lot more iron-willed than your sisters here. Just try to have fun.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

I got back into my clothes and we circled the sales floor, looking for something that spoke to me. It was a beautifully designed store, chandeliers sparkling overhead, all the dresses elegantly displayed. But that was the whole problem. There were so many of them.

“We also have a book with the rest of our stock. I’ll grab it,” the girl said, darting into a back room and then returning with a thick, well-made binder that weighed a ton.

It had to be at least two hundred pages, with wedding dresses displayed on both sides of each piece of paper. I couldn’t imagine where they kept all of these dresses.

With the binder under my arm, I made my way around the store again.

Everything was breathtaking, gowns covered in sparkling crystals, embellished with handsewn lace, waterfalls of ruffles spilling down them. It was an overload of the senses. I didn’t even know where to direct my eyes, since every time I’d look at one dress, I was immediately distracted by the dress next to it. I’d barely covered a quarter of the salon before I gave up.

“Not seeing anything you like?” the tattooed employee asked.

“I don’t even know what I like,” I confessed.

She laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she said. “Luckily, our job is to make sure you find the perfect dress. And if today isn’t the day, there’s always next time. No pressure.”

“Okay,” I said uneasily.

She must have seen something in my expression, because she gave my arm an encouraging pat.

“I have something that might help,” she said, disappearing into the back room again. But it wasn’t a binder she brought out this time. It was a glass of champagne.

“Here,” she said. “This usually helps take the edge off.”

I took the glass gratefully and downed almost half of it immediately. Then we made one more round of the racks, and by some miracle, I actually managed to find a few dresses that looked more me . They were simple sheaths, nothing fussy or flouncy, and cut with the kind of universally flattering shapes that I knew would make me feel comfortable and beautiful.

“Good luck,” the employee said, winking as she dropped me back off at the dressing room and whisked away all the reject gowns.

I stripped down to my underwear and took a deep breath.

The first dress wasn’t right, but it was much better than the others I’d tried. It was sophisticated, without any sparkly embellishments or skin on display. Unfortunately, with the wide boat neck and the vertical seams down the front, it made me look kind of…

“Matronly,” the salesgirl murmured when I stepped out of the dressing room. “No offense. I think it just looks too old for you.”

“Totally agree,” I said. “No offense taken. I appreciate your professional opinion.”

I didn’t even bother showing it off to my sisters. It was the second dress, though, that I knew was something special. It was the perfect combination of classic and modern, feminine but without all the frills and fuss. The moment I had it on, I knew that this was it.

The cut was simple and demure, at least from the front, where it looked similar to the dress Kate Middleton had worn on her wedding day. Long lace sleeves, narrow but plunging neckline, an A-line skirt. Instead of floral appliques on the skirt and bodice, however, my dress was free of additional decoration, and there was no nine-foot train to worry about. The fabric was a lustrous, cream-colored silk charmeuse. It somehow managed to pull off the trick of skimming my curves without exposing or overly accentuating them.

The back, however, was completely open.

It reminded me of the Prada dress, and I knew Ford would love it.

I also loved it, utterly and completely, but I knew I should try on a few more of my choices before I showed Tori and Brooklyn The One . I needed to know for sure that it was the dress I was going to fight for.

I’d just hung it back up behind the others and was standing there in my bra and thong, deciding which to try on next, when I heard the dressing room door creak. I turned around, expecting the salesgirl, but it wasn’t an employee coming in to help me with a zipper.

It was Ford.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed.

“It sounded like you were having a rough time, so I came to offer my support.” He hushed me with a smile, his eyes roving over my body. “I can’t rescue you, but I can give you a little something else to think about.”

I put my hand on my hips, pretending to be mad when I was actually thrilled that he was standing there. We’d spoken plenty since that night at my apartment, but had been too busy to get together.

“You know you’re not supposed to see the dress before the wedding day,” I scolded him.

“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t wearing one,” he said.

With that, he swept me into his arms, his mouth coming down aggressively over mine. A little moan escaped me as I kissed him back eagerly, craving his mouth, his body. Everything. I wanted him so bad that I didn’t care we were in a dressing room in a bridal shop with nothing more than a thin door and a short hallway between me and my sisters-in-law and a bunch of on-the-clock Blue employees.

Ford pushed me up against the wall, putting his finger to his mouth to indicate that I needed to be quiet. My eyes went wide as he pulled a condom out of his pocket. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined something like this happening. Part of me thought I should stop him, but the other part of me—the more insistent part of me—wanted to keep going.

I pushed my hips against his, feeling the long, hard press of his cock between my legs. I was basically naked already, but Ford still made a point of stripping off my bra and thong. Then he gave me the condom and started unzipping his pants.

I understood that I was supposed to help, my hands trembling a little as I tore the packet open. Even though we’d had sex before, Ford had always handled the condom. Putting it on him felt intimate in a new way, and I loved how his head fell back as I touched him.

After pushing me face-first against the wall, he used his foot to nudge my feet apart, making room for himself between my legs. His hard cock pressed against me from behind, and I was so wet for him that when he slid into me, my body was ready.

I was grateful for his hand coming up to cover my mouth, because I could barely contain the moan that slipped from my lips as he pumped deep inside of me. I was still tight, so very tight, but it felt good. And it felt even better when he began to move faster, his teeth closing gently over my shoulder, his free hand sliding around to toy with my clit.

We didn’t have much time, and there was a huge chance that we’d get caught, but I didn’t care. I wanted this. I wanted him. He took me hard and fast against the wall, my legs spread wide, my heels giving me just enough height to provide the perfect angle for the two of us. It was so hot, so fucking hot, both of us struggling to stay silent and discreet, me sucking the finger of the hand he still had over my mouth.

I didn’t think it would be possible to come so quickly, but I could feel an orgasm racing toward me. Before I could stop myself, I was coming, clenching hard around Ford’s cock, bracing myself against the wall as he shuddered with his own climax, his cock pulsing inside me.

We stayed like that for a moment, his hand muffling my cries, my knees wobbly.

Slowly he withdrew.

When I managed to turn around, his pants were zipped back up and he looked exactly as he had when he snuck in a few moments ago. It was hard to believe what had just happened, but I didn’t regret it for a moment.

I slipped back into my thong and my bra and Ford gave me one last kiss before he snuck back out, neither of us saying another word. Footsteps approached from down the hall, and Tori called out, “Emzee? Everything okay in there? Do you need help?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I’m almost ready. Be out in a minute.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was coming loose, my eyeliner smudged, my cheeks flushed. I cleaned up my eye makeup with a tissue, hurried back into the dress I’d been wearing before Ford came in, and strode confidently down the hall to the pedestal.

Stepping up onto it, I smiled at my reflection. “I think this is the one,” I said.

They both started clapping, and I saw tears in Tori’s eyes.

“We agree,” she said.

Brooklyn grinned. “There’s no doubt,” she said. “Look at you—you’re actually glowing.”

She was right. Only it wasn’t because of the dress I was wearing. It was because of Ford.