Page 29 of The Wedding Cake Wish
‘If youwillhave things sent to your workplace it’sonly fair we get to see what’s inside.’ She flicks me a sly smile. ‘Don’t youthink?’
I glance awkwardly at Ellie. ‘Sorry. It’s just I...well,I need this thing for tonight so I thought it would be safer to have itdelivered here to make sure I got it in time. I won’t make a habit of it, Ipromise.’
Ellie smiles. ‘It’s fine, Ruby. No problem at all. And ofcourseyou don’t have to open it here.’ She gives Madison a severe look. ‘Hand itover.’
I hug my parcel, excited to try on the dress it containslater. It’s to wear at the awards ceremony dinner with Hudson, and butterfliesare flitting about in my abdomen at the very thought of being his almost-datetonight.
‘It’s obviously something she doesn’t want us to see,’ saysMadison, clearly not about to let it drop. ‘What is it, Ruby? A saucy maidoutfit? A bulk order of condoms? Or something even more embarrassing?’
Everyone looks at me speculatively and my cheeks warm up toan awkward glow. ‘It’s just a dress.’
‘Ooh, can we see?’ begs Anita.
I glance at Ellie and she’s grinning, so I tear open theparcel and pull it out, holding it up to me and smoothing out the soft, silky,teal blue fabric. It seems a little skimpy but that’s the style. Body-hugging.I’m sure it’ll be fine.
‘Oh, that’s gorgeous, Ruby,’ says Ellie admiringly. ‘It’lllook stunning with your dark hair.’
‘Is it for your night out?’ asks Anita, and I nod.
‘Ooh, night out? Why aren’t I invited?’ asks Madison.
Anita grins. ‘I doubt Ruby and Hudson would want you hangingaround, Madison.’
My heart sinks as Madison’s eyebrows rise interestedly.‘Hudson? You and Hudson?’
I try to shrug it off. ‘He’s invited me to a formal dinnerwhere he needs a plus one. That’s all. Nothing to get excited about.’
Madison nods thoughtfully. ‘Right, better get back toclearing tables.’ But as she walks off, she’s singing, ‘Ruby’s got a boyfriend...Ruby’sgot a boyfriend.’
*****
Later, back at the flat, I drop my keys and bag on thesofa and rush through to the bedroom and try on the new dress.
It’s definitely figure-hugging, I decide, as I pose in frontof the mirror. But it fits. It definitely fits. Which is just as well, becausethere’s nothing else in my wardrobe for a formal dinner like this.
My stomach growls. I grabbed a banana at lunchtime, butapart from that I haven’t eaten since my breakfast eggs on toast. The lastthing I want is to be offered a drink on arrival and for it to go straight tomy head because I have an empty stomach. I don’t want to embarrass Hudson. Notafter he’s been kind enough to invite me along.
I need a snack.
Beans on toast. Quick and easy. Then I can concentrate onmaking myself look the best I can for tonight.
I dash to the bathroom, cleanse my face, and decide to applya soothing clay face masque with fingers that are trembling a little. Accordingto the box, this treatment should make me glow, rather than bringing all thetoxins to the surface just in time to greet Hudson’s arrival at my door! Neverhaving used it before, I squeeze the tube experimentally, but there must besome trapped air in there because some of it squirts without warning onto themirror. Rubbing it with a towel just makes a big smear, but I haven’t got timeto clean it properly.
I quickly eat my snack then I neaten my eyebrows, remove themasque and examine my reflection in the bathroom mirror, crouching at an oddangle to avoid the smeary part. Not bad. With some make-up and my hair swept upand that gorgeous new dress, hopefully Hudson won’t be too ashamed of me!
I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. I’ve got an hourbefore he’s due to pick me up, so I dash into the bathroom and turn on theshower, lingering longer than usual in there with my best products, giving myhead a thorough massage because that’s supposed to be good for your hair. Itall takes time, though, and so does doing my make-up. (Trembling hands aren’tthe best for applying mascara and I have to wipe clean and start all over againtwice on my left eye.)
At last, I’m ready, with ten minutes to spare. Time to getinto the dress.
My stomach gurgles – it’s probably nerves – as I slip it onover my head and try to get my arms into it. It’s a struggle, though, tightacross my back. I should havesteppedinto the dress like I did when Itried it on earlier.
I try to wriggle out of it, but I seem to be trapped. I bendthis way and that, feeling like I’m wearing a straight-jacket, trying myhardest to inch it off. But it’s stuck fast and refusing to budge. I catch aglimpse of myself, panting and red-faced, in the mirror and then I look at theclock on my bedside table and panic shoots through me.
Hudson will be here any second!
What the hell am I going to do? I could yank at the dress,but I’m terrified I’ll tear the delicate fabric. It’s half off now, the fabricover my head, but I’m now sweating like a horse that’s just conquered the GrandNational course in record time.
And then the doorbell rings.
