awkward and cloddish and, well, huge in this place. Feliciana had to be a good eight inches shorter than her, at the very least.
‘I’ve put some things aside for you,’ Feliciana said, leading her to a private salon in the back of the boutique, ‘that I think will suit you very well.’
‘Really?’ Ana couldn’t keep the scepticism from her voice. Feliciana had only glimpsed her once before; how on earth could she know what suited her? And a little mocking voice asked, how could anything suit her?
Ana commanded that voice to be silent. Yet other voices rose to take its place: the locker room taunts of the girls at boarding school, the boys who had ignored or teased her, the helpless sigh of the matron who had shaken her head and said, ‘At least you’re strong.’ And then, most damning of all, Roberto’s utter rejection. How could I?
Over the years she’d avoided places like this, dresses like these, for a reason. And now, standing in the centre of a brightly lit, mirrored dressing room while Feliciana bustled over with an armful of frocks, she felt horribly exposed and vulnerable.
‘Now, first I thought, a gown for the party, si?’ Feliciana smiled. ‘Most important.’
‘Yes, I suppose,’ Ana murmured, looking dubiously at a white lace gown she’d glimpsed on her last visit to the boutique. It now hung over Feliciana’s arm, exquisite and fragile.
‘A formal occasion, is it not? I thought we’d try this.’ Feliciana held up the gown.
Ana shook her head. ‘I don’t think…’
‘You’ll see,’ Feliciana said firmly. She gestured to Ana’s trouser suit with a tiny grimace of distaste. ‘Now, you hide yourself in these clothes, as if you are ashamed.’
Ana flushed. ‘I’m just not—’
‘But you are,’ Feliciana interjected. She smiled, laying a hand on Ana’s arm. ‘It is not my job to make women look awkward or ugly, si? I know what I am doing. Right now, you walk with your shoulders stooped, your head bowed as if you are trying not to be tall.’
‘I don’t—’ Ana protested.
‘You are tall,’ Feliciana said firmly. ‘With a beautiful full figure. And don’t you know many women long to be so tall? You are strikingly beautiful, but I know you don’t think you are.’ She let go of Ana’s shoulders and gestured to the lace confection of a dress. ‘In this, you will see.’ She smiled again, softly. ‘Trust me.’
So Ana did. She took the dress and let Feliciana take her trouser suit, slipping into the lacy sheath with some foreboding and also a building excitement. The dress fitted like a second skin, hugging her hips, the dip of her waist and the swell of her breasts. Its plunging neckline was made respectable by the handmade Burano lace edging it, and the material ended in a frothy swirl around her ankles. Ana sucked her stomach in as Feliciana did up the hidden zipper in the back, but there was no need as the dress fitted perfectly. They did make gowns like this in her size.
Ana didn’t dare look in the mirror. She wasn’t afraid, precisely, but neither did she want to be disappointed.
‘Uno minuto…’ Feliciana muttered, surveying her, her hands on her hips. She reached out and tugged the clip from Ana’s hair; it cascaded down her back in a dark swirl. ‘Ah…perfectto!’
Perfect? Her? Ana almost shook her head, but Feliciana steered her towards the mirror. ‘Look. You’ve never seen yourself in something like this before, have you?’
No, she hadn’t. Ana knew that the minute she gazed at her reflection, because for a second at least she couldn’t believe she was staring at herself. She was staring at a stranger, a woman—a gorgeous, confident, sexy woman. She shook her head.
‘No…’
Feliciana clucked in dismay. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘No.’ A bubble of laughter erupted, escaping through her lips as Ana turned around. ‘I don’t like it. I love it.’
Feliciana grinned. ‘Buon. Because I have at least six other gowns I want you to try.’
By the time Ana left the boutique, she’d purchased four gowns, several skirts and tops, three pairs of shoes, including a pair of silver stilettos that she’d balked at until Feliciana had told her sternly, ‘Your husband must be almost five inches taller than you. You can wear heels.’
She’d never worn heels in her life. She’d probably fall on her face. Ana giggled; she wasn’t used to making such a girlish sound. Yet right now she felt girlish, feminine and frivolous and fun. She’d enjoyed this afternoon and, best of all, she