Page 59 of Love Lessons
“Last night Ian left the poker game withtwoglasses of scotch.” Charli says with a smile. “This morning I went into Vera’s room, and there they were on her windowsill. Untouched, I think.”
“Whoa, girl!” Heidi Jo gasps. “You work fast.”
I snort, because nothing could be further from the truth. “Donotbe impressed. I threw myself at him in the most awkward way possible.”
She shrugs. “It took me two tries to seduce Jason, and I humiliated myself on the first round. So, well done, sister.”
“Really?” Charli’s eyes light up. “I’ve never heard this story.”
“Oh, it was brutal.” She smiles. “I got drunk and threw up in his bathroom, so he put me to bed like a toddler. I had to sneak out the next morning at dawn.”
We all laugh, and I suddenly feel lighter. Heidi Jo seems so competent at everything. It’s nice to hear that she can be awkward, too.
“I’ve never had a vacation fling,” Charli says. “But I think it suits you.”
“She’s right,” Heidi Jo agrees. “As my darling husband used to say during his wild days—nothing ventured, nothing banged.”
There hasn’t been any banging, but I keep that to myself. “Ian told me I could style him. And T-shirts weren’t part of the brief, but I think he’d like this.”
“Then get it,” Charli says. “We have one more shop after this, right? For dresses?”
“Right,” I agree. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Our final stopis the showroom of the young Italian designer Isabella Fieri. She makes evening dresses, and I’ve always admired them.
“Is this a client thing or a you thing?” Charli asks, sweeping her hand down a dark-green strapless chiffon dress.
“Me,” I admit. “I’m on the hunt for a dress for the gala. A spectacular dress.”
“Well, let’s see one on you,” Charli suggests. “What is it you always tell the clients? The right dress can make magic.”
“Good line,” Heidi Jo says.
“Thanks.” But it’s not a line. I really believe that. Fieri’s dresses are sumptuous and definitely out of my price range. “Charli, you would look amazing in green silk.” And she can probably afford it.
“Fine, but you try this one,” Charli says, pointing at a dress the color of an amethyst.
My skin color is deep enough to work with darker tones, and the purple hue will give me a rosy complexion. “All right. Let’s see how we look.”
Five minutes later Heidi Jo is taking our photo in front of an Instagram wall with the designer’s logo all over it. The saleswoman clucks around, hoping to make a sale.
I’m going to have to disappoint her, though, because this dress is way out of my budget.
“Vera, that dress isyou,” Heidi Jo says. “Your ex won’t know what hit him.”
I stare into the mirror for a moment and try to picture Danforth’s reaction. I can’t, though. Maybe because we haven’t spent any time together in so long.
Or maybe because he was never very enthusiastic about you in the first place, my inner critic suggests.
“Knocking him dead is my goal,” I agree. “But not if I have to sell a kidney to do it.”
“Fine. Be practical.” She shrugs like I’m hopeless.
Back in the dressing room, I carefully remove the nicest dress in Italy.
“So who’s better in the sack?” Heidi Jo asks over the door. “Which of your two men?”
