by Aimee Brown
THE LUCKY DRESS
Aimee Brown
Start Reading
About this Book
About the Author
Table of Contents
www.ariafiction.com
About The Lucky Dress
We all have our lucky dress…
Emi Harrison hasn’t been feeling particularly lucky lately. Ever since her ex-fiancée, Jack Cabot, successfully shattered her heart into a million pieces. She’s managed to avoid him for a whole year, but all that’s about to change at her brother Evan’s wedding…
She will have to face Jack, Jack’s sister, Jack’s parents, and Jack’s new girlfriend: a mean girl that just won’t quit. What could possibly go wrong?
With her lucky dress on, all bets are off, and maybe Emi will find her happily-ever-after at last?
Contents
Welcome Page
About The Lucky Dress
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
A Note to Liam
Acknowledgements
A Note From The Author
About Aimee Brown
Become an Aria Addict
Copyright
To Corey, my husband, who never doubted for a second that I was a
writer. Though, it did take fourteen years to finally prove it to him.
One
A Bad Dress
Present Day
Dallas, Texas
I peer over my shoulder in an attempt to see my back in the mirror behind me. This zipper has to zip. Has to.
The seamstress pulls open the curtain and peeks in.
“Oh…” She taps her lips with her forefinger.
“It’ll never zip,” I say with a defeated sigh. And here I thought the actual wedding would be the worst part. The possibility of walking down the aisle in a dress that clearly doesn’t fit would definitely make things a tad more awkward than they are already bound to be.
“Maybe a corset will help?” the seamstress smiles.
“A corset? Like, what they used to wear in the 1800’s?” I ask, worried that instead of just looking like I’ve put on a few pounds I’ll end up with crushed ribs as well.
“Luckily they aren’t quite as excruciating as they were back then. I’ll just go grab one and you get undressed before I get back.”
I’d collapse in the chair sitting in the corner of this dressing room but I’m afraid if I did the seams would also pop out, creating only more of an embarrassment when I finally do walk out and show Lily the disaster this thing is.
“A corset, Lily!” I yell through the curtain at my best friend. “Did you hear that? I’ve gained so much weight that I need to cinch it all in with a freaking corset!” I peek my face out of the edge of the curtain, only to see Lily’s nod.
“I don’t know what you’re complaining about? I wear Spanx every day of my life,” she rolls her eyes at me with a smile.
Spanx isn’t even an option for me; I need the big guns of underwear to make this dress even the tiniest bit presentable.
I peel the dress off and drape it over the small chair. This bridesmaid dress reminds me of those episodes of Say Yes to the Dress where the Bride’s entourage starts shopping for the most expensive and over the top gowns they can find but as soon as the bride slips on the dress that was beautiful on the mannequin, it turns out, the dress was made only for that specific mannequin.
The dress is beautiful, it’s just not beautiful on me. It might be if I was six inches taller, thirty pounds lighter, and still had my early twenty something perky chest.
“Here we go!” The seamstress holds up a white corset in one hand and a handful of undergarments she didn’t mention in the other hand. “We’ll just get you tied into these and we should be good to move onto alterations.”
I wish tying me into the garments was truly as easy as the seamstress had made it sound. Ten minutes of pulling, pushing, sucking it in, and adjusting, is what it took. If I breathe shallowly, the agonizingly uncomfortable corset nearly does the trick. But, since there are still a few uh, lumpy areas, I slide on the high waisted Spanx-like underwear that hit me just below the breast and just over the corset. The seamstress then insists I step into a slip that flares at the bottom, obviously to help the dress that does the same look a little more… the way it should.
I do a spin in front of the mirror in the dressing room. It’s not the most graceful spin but it does show off the areas I normally try to hide.
“I might have to wear this stuff under everything.” If only my ass could look this good in my favorite pair of jeans.
“Ha!” the seamstress laughs. “Let’s try the dress again.”
Since I can no longer lift my legs to step into the dress she pulls it over my head and this time it doesn’t get caught up anywhere, sliding effortlessly from my chest to the floor.
“See, much improvement. Now to just alter the length and any last minute fixes.”
“Wow, I do look a little more hourglass shaped, don’t I?”
“A good seamstress can work miracles.”
She isn’t kidding. If only I could bring her with me to the wedding to make sure all the miracles I need can be worked out, like a fairy godmother of sorts.
“How’s it look?” Lily calls from her seat near the dressing room and display pedestal.
“Like it’s painted on…” I sigh.
“That’s something, come on out.”
The seamstress pulls the curtain open and takes my hand, helping me waddle out into the room before pointing me to the pedestal I’m to stand on for alterations.
“Wow,” Lily says, reaching out to take both my hands and force me onto it. “You’re a little stiff.”
“A little stiff? I’m wrapped like a freaking mummy under this thing.” I gain my balance on the pedestal, three mirrors staring back at me almost illuminating all the things I hoped the ancient underwear would hide.
“How will you ever walk like a normal human being in this?”
“No idea.”
“Is it even the right size?” Lily is now walking around me, looking me up and down from every angle.
“It is now, after crushing my internal organs into everything I’m wearing underneath it. It should have fit to my measurements I sent Hannah a few months ago, though.”
When I finally tried this dress on this morning at my apartment I couldn’t get it up over my waist. I knew if I pulled any further I’d have ended up in tears, with a shredded dress and Hannah would hate me for years to come. That’s when I started to panic and gave up, deciding that I would cross my fingers, call the alterations lady and hope she could work some serious magic.
“It’s a beautiful dress, but it’s just so—”
“Tight?” I finish the sentence for her.
Lily and I have known each other a long time so finishing each other’s sentences, even unintentionally, is something we just do.
Lily nods, her face scrunched into an awkward smile. “
Sure, tight is one word,” she makes her way to the pink velvet couch facing the pedestal I’m standing on, her arms crossed over her chest. “Can you even sit? Or walk without looking knock-kneed?”
I glance down at the dress. It is pretty, and on anyone a size two and under it’d probably be va-va-voom gorgeous without any extra unseen help. The medieval underwear I’m referring to does appear to be helping fake that look though. My boobs look fantastic too. I’m not sure they’ve sat this high on my chest since I was in my early twenties. The rest of me… well, it pretty much fits like a glove. The latex kind. Or like one of those nude statues that have got the clothing painted on and you can hardly tell. That’ll be me, miss, the dress didn’t fit so we’ve hired a professional body painter to fake it.
The dress is made of a gray shimmery material that fits like a second skin all the way to the knees, where it then flares out and is covered in black and gray feathers that are seemingly dipped in gold glitter. I’d preferred it to be strapless but no, it’s got these droopy sequined off the shoulder straps that allow me to lift my arms just inches from my body.
I glance over at the shoes sitting peacefully on the sofa next to Lily. They’re strappy, glittery, platform, and at least ten inches high. Well, OK, maybe not ten inches, but it feels that way. The fact that I can’t take full steps in this skirt anyway will prove either helpful or hurtful with said shoes. I’m that girl who has fallen in the middle of the sidewalk wearing no heels at all, so these ones aren’t giving me much hope for grace and poise when walking down an aisle in front of everyone I know.
“I’m not sure I can walk at all with the combo of layers; cinched up underwear, a skin tight dress and stripper shoes…” I chew on my bottom lip as I stare into the tri-fold full length mirrors in front of me. I wonder if this is one of those deceptively flattering mirrors Elaine is always going on about in Seinfeld? Probably instead of me looking lovely, I look more like an overstuffed sausage.
“It doesn’t look completely terrible now,” Lily reassures me with a small grin. That’s what best friends do, they’re honest until you can’t take it and then they just find the best honest quality and talk up that angle. She was also unlucky enough to witness my panic of the dress not fitting at my apartment this morning. “The underwear does help. You just look stiff.”
“I’m a little worried that if I take a full breath something will pop, the dress will explode and the impending underwear malfunction will be the center of some viral video before the wedding is even over.” The last thing I need is an internet worthy video surfacing to prove that I was not at all ready for this week.
I force myself to look away from the mirror and watch the seamstress, who is kneeling at my feet and already working on the necessary alterations. Swiftly pinning the hem, just above the feathers, so I don’t drag it across the floor.
I’m not exactly tall, standing at only five foot three, and since Hannah didn’t think of how a dress like this fits a short girl, this poor woman has a long night of hemming ahead of her I’m afraid.
Seamstress Lady, whose name I still don’t know, isn’t all that exciting looking considering she works in a bridal shop that looks like you’ve just stepped into a giant, sparkly, tulle cloud. Her gray hair is piled high on her head and her dress is a plain black version of Mrs Doubtfire’s dresses, including the drabby cardigans. She’s kind of depressing looking. I can imagine the bridezilla’s she’s had to work with over the years have drilled her down into what she is today.
“I have to ask,” Lily breaks the silence. “What’s with the shiny gray material anyway?”
I’ve wondered this myself. Gray, I can see, it’s one of my favorite colors. But the muted sheen of the fabric is not helping to hide imperfections.
“Her official wedding colors are black, gray, and pink.”
“It’s so depressing, Emi. It kind of makes me sad just looking at it. I mean seriously, it’s the color of gray skies or an impending tornado and you know as well as I do that isn’t a color that brings out anything but dread.”
Lily taps her phone, taking a photo so I can remember this disastrous moment for a lifetime. “I’ve just never seen anything like it in a bridesmaid dress. She may as well have wrapped you in foil. I mean seriously, you look like a foil wrapped burrito from Del Taco.”
Great.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Only a best friend could be as blunt as Lily and add to my list of clothing styles not to wear. I already do a fine job of that myself. When you’re a short girl and wear what clothing companies consider plus size, you might as well just have a seamstress on call for alterations to anything you purchase. For some reason, clothing designers seem to think that if you’re not a sample size that you’re unreasonably tall. My boobs are big, my legs are short, my hips are the tiniest bit wider than I’d like, and my thighs shudder at the phrase thigh gap. I am thankful for that last part as my lack of thigh gap has prevented me from accidentally dropping my phone into the toilet a time or three.
“Can you let it out at all?” Lily is talking to the seamstress who’s still knelt at my feet.
“No,” she shakes her head. “You don’t let a dress like this out. You take it in,” she says in a sharp irritated voice. “Did she order you two sizes above your actual size? Formal dresses always run small. Someone should have told her to order up.” She doesn’t stop pinning while she talks, and can somehow speak with a mouth full of pins. If it was me, I’d be on my way to the nearest Emergency Room, because I’d have swallowed at least one of them.
“That’s likely the problem. She didn’t order it from a store. She designed it and was supposed to make it fit my measurements.” I glance down at Alteration Lady, who rolls her eyes without speaking and goes back to pinning. She must have dealt with designers before.
“News flash,” Lily flashes jazz hands into the air. “Yours doesn’t fit. Maybe you gained some weight since you sent her your measurements?” she suggests.
“Lil, I’ve gained nearly thirty pounds in the last year. I threw out my scale a while ago, so I have no doubt that my ass has only got bigger since measurement day six months ago.”
It’s not completely my fault that I’ve gained some weight. It happens when you own a coffee shop and you love everything you serve. It wouldn’t be right to set out pastries that I hadn’t tested. I mean, what if they were bad? When I test one I know they are the quality that I want to serve. Plus, who doesn’t drink five lattes a day? Opening a business on your own, two thousand miles from the life you never thought you’d leave, is stressful.
Why didn’t I think of faking my measurements and adding an inch, maybe three, to all of them in the first place? Probably because I had planned to start going to the gym, I bought a membership for, so I could actually lose the thirty pounds before having to go face a room full of people, I never thought I’d see again. Those gym salesmen really have a way with all the right words, making you as excited about joining the gym as if it was your own stupid idea.
I should have known that this dress would be as sexy as possible, though. Hannah has always been a bit on the sexy side. Her parents sent her on a trip around the world after she graduated college so she could find out what she wanted to do with her life. None of us were shocked when she settled on fashion. Now that she’s well on her way to planning her new fashion lines she’s only really been working on the wedding and her clothing label, Hannah. That’s it. No last name, no cutesy Miss Me title, just Hannah. She said she wanted her brand to exude simple, classy, and elegant. If I’m honest, I can see almost all of that in this bridesmaid gown, except for the fact that I’m the one wearing it. I guess it’s time for me to finally admit that I’ll never be a fashion model. I haven’t seen the wedding gown yet but after seeing this dress, I’m a little nervous just how sexy or over the top it will be?
“I think you should call her and show her every flawed inch of this thing, without the underwear assistance, unless you actually think you ca
n survive a full day of being in it?” Lily is now pacing the floor, her irritation starting to bubble over. “If she plans to run a business doing custom designs, she needs to pay more attention to her clients’ body types,” her lips are pinched together and her eyebrows raised. “I know if I ordered this from her and it fit the way this one does, I’d refuse to pay her and go somewhere else. It’s appalling.”
Lily may or may not be the bitchier one in our relationship. She doesn’t hold back. If you don’t want to know what she thinks, don’t ask. I have an unspoken appreciation for it. Her bitchiness is handy in a variety of situations and she’s somehow become successful because of it.
She is head of English at a small private college here in Dallas. Let’s just say, she’s the professor about whom students use the phrase “Oh… you got McConnell? Sucky.” She knows it and she loves it. The fear of the kids as they walk into her class is better than a cup of coffee for Lily.
“Grab my phone and FaceTime her,” I say. “Let’s see what she thinks. Maybe I’ll get lucky and look so terrible that she’ll decide I don’t even have to go.”
“You know that won’t happen, she’s marrying your brother.” Lily taps at my phone before turning it to me making sure it’s a full body shot.
“OH! Emi!” Hannah’s face fills the screen without me even hearing the phone ring. “Wow! What do you think?”
“I think I can barely breathe, I definitely can’t sit, and I’m pretty sure it’s way too small?” I ask it as a question, hoping to God I’m right and she’ll offer to whip up a new one in the next three days.
“No, it’s not too small. It’s supposed to be very Marilyn Monroe vintage. I think you look gorgeous! It’s exactly how I pictured it!”
Lily’s eyebrows rise again behind the phone, a smirk creeping up on her face. She’s probably glad Hannah can’t see it because it would give away her disapproval. Obviously, Hannah and I have different ideas of ‘gorgeous.’
