A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,19
on display was enough that she immediately felt underdressed, the cut-off capri pants and soft lemon cardigan she’d thought suitable for this shopping expedition now feeling decidedly underdone in this world of hand-printed silks and designer denim.
Not that the two sleek shop attendants seemed to notice or care. They were too busy welcoming Alesander to their store with their wide smiles and gleaming eyes. If he wasn’t as good-looking as he was, she’d think they could almost smell his money.
He rattled off something in Spanish too fast for her to understand and the two women threw a glance her way, sizing her up, chatting excitedly between themselves before one breezed past a rack of gowns and disappeared into a back room while the other introduced them both. Alondra and Evita promised to be of every assistance, she said, nothing would be too much trouble. ‘And you are in luck, señorita,’ the woman called Alondra said excitedly, ‘we have some very special gowns delivered just today. They are exclusives. You will not find them anywhere else in all of Spain.’
Her colleague returned a few moments later, her arms laden with four exquisite gowns in rich colours that she hung side by side on a rail to compare. ‘What do you think of these?’
They were all different in style, cut and colour, from strapless to asymmetrical to one-shouldered; from lilac to silver to fiery red, but with one thing in common—they were all exquisite.
‘Stunning,’ she said, overwhelmed by the detail of each of the gowns, whether in the beading or skilful pleating or the soft feminine drape of the skirt, finding it hard to believe that she might soon actually possess anything so beautiful—but, more than that, have an occasion to wear it.
‘What about that one?’ Alesander said behind her, but when she turned to see which one he meant, he was looking elsewhere, towards an aqua-coloured gown hanging by itself to one side. It was strapless with a pleated bodice, fitted through the body to the hip, where it finished emphatically in a ruffled skirt split high up one thigh. It was dramatic and sexy and seemed to convey the very essence of Spain, understated and yet over the top at the same time. And undeniably the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen.
Ordinarily her eyes would have already bypassed it, knowing there was no point giving it a second glance, knowing there was no way she could afford to even look at it, but these were no ordinary times and besides, she heard him say, ‘It would go with your eyes.’
And she shivered and looked back at him uncertainly. When had he noticed the colour of her eyes?
The women descended again into rapid Spanish, to which Alesander simply responded, ‘Who?’ And when they answered, he smiled and issued a series of instructions to the women and finished with one to her. ‘Try it on,’ he said.
Heels were produced, and accessories and one woman zipped her into the dress while the other turned her ponytail into a messy knot that looked halfway to evening glam and when she was finally dressed she stared at the result in the mirror. My God, was that really her? Apart from being a little long, the gown fitted her as if it had been made for her, but instead of it emphasising how much weight she had lost in the last few months, like her other clothes did now they were too big, the fact this gown hugged her curves seemed to make the most of them.
‘I love it,’ she said, wondering at a dress that had the power to transform her from discount department store cheap to designer chic.
‘The hem can be altered,’ Alondra said. ‘That is no problem.’
‘And this before make-up and jewellery,’ the other clucked, beaming her delight. ‘You must show your boyfriend.’
She almost denied it. Almost said that Alesander wasn’t her boyfriend, but stopped herself short. Because he kind of was now, even if it was only make-believe.
He was on the phone when she stepped from the dressing room, his back to her and she said nothing, not wanting to disturb him, but he must have heard something because after a few seconds he stilled and, still talking into his phone, he turned, only for the torrent of words to stop as his dark eyes drank her in. And then he said something short, punched a button to punctuate the call and pocketed the phone.
She smiled nervously, wanting him to like what