Rake: A Dark Boston Irish Mafia Romance (The Carneys Book 1) - Sophie Austin Page 0,40
for myself in ways other than being invisible. I’m going to be very visible at the gala.
“Oh, this could be it!” She pulls a black dress off the rack. “V-neck is excellent for busty women and look.” She points to a black ribbon that winds around the waist. “Cinches in at the natural waist, and an A-line skirt to balance things out.” She holds it up to me. “Try it on.”
I slip into the dressing room. Getting into the dress with my injured ankle is awkward, but not too bad. I leave the scarf on and come out to show Jamilah.
She claps her hands together, a dazzling smile lighting up her face.
“Hot damn, you look amazing! Why have you been hiding in all those shapeless clothes?” She points at Finn’s scarf. “Can I see the neckline without the scarf?”
“You’re going to get upset.”
“Sasha...” Her eyes widen in concern.
Sighing, I unwind the scarf and show her the bruises.
She’s quiet for a minute, her eyes blazing. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. We’ll get you some makeup next.” She looks me over and takes a deep breath before smiling cheekily. “And a better bra.”
I feel a little naked in the V-neck. It shows off cleavage I’m used to covering up, but I have to admit, I look slimmer than I normally do.
“See?” she says, patting my waist. “You’re a small girl, but when you wear those potato sacks it hides your incredible shape.” She plucks at the hemline of the skirt. “Hmm. Can you sew? This should come up another two inches so it’s just over your knee.”
I’m not a super talented seamstress, but I can do simple repairs and hems on my grandmother’s old sewing machine. The skirt flares out, but it’s a nice, thick cotton. Should be easy enough.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “It doesn’t look trashy?” My mother’s voice echoes in my ears. She just wanted to keep me safe, I know, but she didn’t always comment on my body in the kindest way.
“You’re a young woman, Sasha. A fit, beautiful young woman who deserves to show off what she’s working with. You are absolutely right that you don’t need Finn’s money to look good. Trust me, you look stunning, and your curves are nothing to be ashamed of. A million girls would kill for a body like yours.”
I touch the straps on the dress. They’re only about an inch wide. Jamilah senses my discomfort and laughs.
“This is where the bra comes in. We should get you a few more things while we’re here, and then I know a place.”
I end up spending only fifty dollars for a bag full of clothes, including some jewelry and a pair of nice metallic flats to wear with my dress. “Normally heels with this,” Jamilah had told me. “But not with that ankle.” It’s more than I normally spend, but still a hell of a lot less than whatever Finn would’ve insisted I spend for one dress.
We head to another store for underwear. I should be embarrassed, but I’m thrilled to have help from someone who knows what they’re doing. My grandma Goldie wore the same bra for as long as she lived with us and duct taped the underwire back in when it shot out of the side.
An energetic older woman measures me, getting up in my business in a way that leaves me red-faced.
“It’ll be worth it,” Jamilah says.
And she’s right. The bras cost a small fortune. Not really something I can afford, but it’s an investment.
The aggressive tape measure woman points me to matching underwear, and I officially have my first sexy bras and panties. I end up buying other lingerie too. Can’t hurt to have some.
My mind wanders to Finn’s hands sliding under the worn cotton of the panties I had bought in a six-pack and it makes me want to die a little. At least he didn’t see them. And he won’t see these either.
Jamilah connects me with affordable help for hair and makeup—two more things I never really had time to learn how to do.
“You can look good on a budget,” she says. “It’s easier when you’re rich, but not impossible either way.”
I’m back home by three, and my father is thankfully passed out drunk so I can get my purchases put away before he sees me and screams at me for wasting money.
My money, but still.
I pull out my grandma’s little sewing machine and fix up the dress hem. I’m going to shock the hell out of