Someone I Used to Know - By Blakney Francis Page 0,37

a company full of other dancers (boys and girls alike), it had a way of curing you of any body insecurities.

“Wow.” Jade’s eyes caressed my abdomen and thighs. “I thought you were definitely hiding stretch marks and a spare tire under all those baggy clothes…But you’re like almost really skinny. I don’t think you can even tell you’ve had a baby.”

Oh yeah, and then there was that. My arms instantly wrapped around my midsection like a suit of armor, covering everything I could. I felt like she’d wheeled out a permanent marker and circled every imperfection.

“Not skinny enough to fit into any of your wardrobe,” the man noted, rubbing salt in my wound, as he slipped a navy dress over Madeline’s equally unclothed form.

“Please,” Fran drew the word out with a sassy flavor that tipped into her Spanish ancestry. “My body didn’t look that good before I had a baby.”

I gave her a grateful grin, but kept my arms where they were.

“Try this. It’s Trina Turk.” The woman reappeared with a silky fabric wrapped around her hands. “The gold will really set off your skin tone.”

I had no choice but to abandon my safety and raise my hands above my head to allow her to slide the slinky dress over my head.

The golden hue blindfolded me, and I wished more than anything I didn’t recognize the disapproving groan that filled the room as soon as I was blind to it. I knew it was Declan Davies getting a full view of what I’d left exposed. My cheeks were tomato red and a startling contrast to the clingy dress, once it was finally pulled into place.

“A gentleman would’ve turned his back,” I snapped, whirling away from him to stare into the three-sided floor length mirror.

“Good thing I’m Australian.” His smirk followed my eyes into the reflection.

“You’re an ass.”

The nameless woman who’d selected the frock puckered her lips in deep thought as she (along with the rest of them) ignored our banter in favor of analyzing the pretty dress that draped off one of my shoulders.

“What do you think?” the woman prompted.

It was brownish-gold that sparkled with sequined chiffon. Its’ one sleeve fluttered down my right arm, and the intricate pattern of the fabric gathered at my waist before carrying on in a strict line to mid-thigh.

I started to answer, but Declan cut me off from his new position, leaned against the doorframe, looking away from me with bored nonchalance. “She should wear something red.”

He was mocking my raging blush, and I glared at him to let him know how much I appreciated it. I was just about to let him know verbally, when once again my chance to speak was stolen away.

“Red would be stunning!” It was the tall man that rushed back into the racks this time.

“What are you sheilas raiding the wardrobe department for?” Declan filled the man’s departure with the same easy carelessness as before.

“What are you even doing here?” I barked. I hated just how much his rejection stung me. I got it – he didn’t find me attractive. There was no reason for him to act repulsed by the mere sight of me.

“Well I got a little tired of waiting for you in the car, so I came to see what the hold-up was.” There were no outward signs of the irritation I sensed hiding somewhere deep beneath his emotionless façade.

Guilt teased my gut. I’d forgotten all about him and the limo waiting for me in its usual parking spot. He didn’t give me a chance to voice my apologies though. He just always had to have the last word.

“Have fun wherever you end up, ankle biter,” he said suddenly, kicking away from the wall like the conversation was too boring to fake an interest in a second longer. He disappeared around the corner.

The wardrobe man returned almost simultaneously with Declan’s exit, and I was distracted with another dress to try on.

“It’s Valentino.”

My skin practically squealed with delight as it was reacquainted with its long lost love – expensive fabric. The dress’s crew neckline made me feel safe, while the fitted bodice showed off the new envious curve of my breasts. At the waist the formfitting red fabric spilt away from my hips and then stopped gracefully in the middle of my thighs. It was deceivingly modest, and with black heels my legs almost looked sinful.

Madeline had settled on the first dress she tried on, and the stylist paired it with dangerous stilettos that gave her