Page 15 of You Wish
“Can’t have you disappearing on me, now, can I?”
“Maybe back then you weren’t ‘Every Time’ Evans. In fact, stats show that eighty percent of women admit to faking it. So statistically, Mr. Math Guy, eight of the last ten women you were with didn’t get the ‘every time’ experience.”
“The ones who matter in that example of yours are the people I care for. And you, my dear, are a terrible liar. Now, the next time we negotiate either I need to be clothed—or you need to be naked. I prefer option two.”
5
“Cupid works in mysterious ways,” Jane said.
This week’s girls’ day had been moved to Velvet And Vows, a high-end boutique specializing in gowns—bridal and other. Georgia had shopped there many times, but only the window kind. Today though, she was there as an actual paying customer. If she was going to land that senior wish-maker position, then she needed to dress the part. One that made her feel like a mover and shaker in the world, instead of someone the world had moved and shaken.
She looked at her frizzy hair and dark circles, and let out a rush of exhausted air.
“Cupid is a sadist,” Georgia said from inside the dressing room. She turned to the right, to the left, and finally looked over her shoulder to see how the dress made her butt look. It looked as if she’d skipped her morning run—and the thirty mornings before.
“Everyone has their kink,” Roxy said.
With a huff, Georgia undid the zipper and let the silky material slide to the floor. “Mine isn’t sadism.”
“Your choice in shoes says differently,” Roxy countered. “So does your library of dark romance novels.”
“Being kidnapped by a dark and dangerous mafia boss and being forced to spend a week with your ex are two different things.”
“I don’t know. F1 drivers are singularly focused when it comes to a task,” Jane said, her face flushed. “They don’t stop until everyone crosses the finish line with fanfare.”
Georgia peeked her head out from between the curtains. “We’re not talking about Henry. We’re talking about a guy whose name literally translates to fuck boy.”
“Maybe that’s what you need,” Roxy said. “A little fuck in your life.”
“Children present,” Georgia chastised, although there wasn’t a kid in sight. This was the kind of store moms shopped at specifically because they couldn’t bring their kids.
For goodness’ sake, the store shimmered with understated opulence, every detail curated to feel like stepping into a glossy holiday magazine spread. Frosted garlands wound around gilded mirrors, twinkling with warm white lights that cast a soft glow over racks of silk and cashmere. Crystal ornaments dangled from the chandeliers like frozen raindrops, catching the light every time someone moved.
In the center of the dressing area was a plush velvet settee, the color of Santa’s hat, where her friends sat. Well, Jane sat with the ease of someone who belonged there, the stem of a crystal flute balanced between manicured fingers. Roxy looked like she was casing the joint.
“What Roxy means is maybe you need a little fun in your life. Perhaps some romance without strings.”
“The last thing I need is romance.” Georgia stepped back into the dressing room and picked up the next dress. She slipped itover her head and, without even a glance in the mirror, stepped out from behind the curtain.
Roxy let out a low whistle and Jane said, “That dress says differently.”
“What?” Georgia asked and then turned to face the mirror. Something slammed into her like a freight train. She looked like a million bucks—which was probably what the dress cost. It was red and silky and made her girls look like full C’s and her butt look like J.Lo’s.
Again she did the left, right look and when she came to her butt, it looked like she had actually spent yesterday doing Pilates instead of main-lining potato chips.
“I don’t remember picking this out,” Georgia said.
“You didn’t.” Roxy winked. “We did.”
Georgia held her hands out to the side and spun. “It isn’t my style.”
“This time, the dress disagrees,” Jane said.
Georgia looked at herself in the mirror again and suddenly she felt lighter, her dark bags were less noticeable and that stress line she carried around like a heavy winter’s coat was gone.
She looked—amazing.
Years ago, she’d readSisterhood of the Traveling Pantsbut never bought into the idea that an item of clothing could change one’s life. She believed it now.
