She wanted to ask Dalton about it, but at the same time, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Even though he’d kind of hurt hers by putting her in this monstrosity. Obviously, he didn’t trust her enough to dress herself for the Wranglers’ cocktail party, so he’d sent this instead. While she admitted he might have a right to be afraid—the gold-lamé bikini would live on in the worst kind of infamy—she still felt like he could have talked to her about it instead of sending her the most ridiculous dress on the planet.
Then again, it wasn’t like she’d seen much of him these last couple of days. She might have been super offended, thinking he’d told her he loved her and then bailed, but Heath hadn’t been around much either. The Wranglers were gearing up for an exhibition game at Lasso Stadium, and it was all football, all the time over there. Or so she’d been told by both Dalton and Heath.
He had sent her flowers today, though, along with a super sweet card that once again ended with the words “I love you.” Which had made the score 3-0 in the whole I love you game, and she was 0.
Considering she was pathologically allergic to losing, she figured it was past time for her to remedy the score. Tonight. Even if she looked like a giant blueberry wedding cake when she did it.
“It looks like we’re on our own, Super Girl.” Tre stood behind Harmony, pulling at the dress and trying to make something not-so-terrible out of something truly hideous. “I can’t let you leave the house in that.”
“Dalton obviously sees something that we don’t. I have to wear it.” She glanced at the clock on her phone, which was on the bathroom counter. “In less than an hour.”
“Don’t panic. I’ve got this.” He pulled one hand out from behind his back and waggled a fresh roll of silver duct tape. “It worked for your sister.”
“I can’t imagine that I’m going to like this, but this dress can’t get any worse.” Her other choice was the blue chiffon trash bag swallowing her from neck to ankle.
“Take it off and let me see what I can do with it.” He ripped off a long strip of duct tape. “God, I love that sound.”
She slipped the dress off and grabbed a robe and slid it on over her bra and panties. For the evening, Lyric had bought her a way too expensive but beyond sexy Agent Provocateur bra and panty set.
Lyric had a thing for lingerie like Harmony had a thing for shoes. And hey, at least she’d look good when Dalton finally peeled that monstrosity off of her.
“Just try not to make it too sexy. Dalton wanted me to tone it down. I’m pretty sure that’s why he sent me this dress.” She ignored the anger that simmered under the hurt, then shoved the hurt down deep inside. Between the #HotGirlNeedsDate free-for-all and the vagina gone viral, she was willing to admit that maybe she really did need to chill. But it sucked that the man she was head over heels for was the one who had to tell her that.
And she got it. She did. He was worried that she would embarrass him tonight. Given her track record and her outrageous campaign to sully her reputation, she understood where he was coming from. But still, didn’t he trust her enough to know that she wouldn’t deliberately embarrass him? Especially now that they were a thing and this was his job. She knew how seriously he took his job. Of course she did. How could he not know that she’d never do anything to jeopardize that?
Clearly, he thought the real Harmony wasn’t good enough. He wanted her to wear this dress, tone it down, and not embarrass him. It seemed that her only two choices in life were to be the good girl or to raise hell. Tonight, she would be the good girl because she loved him. And then the two of them were going to have a talk. One that settled the weird feeling inside of her once and for all. Because she hated second guessing him and hated even more that she was second guessing herself.
Tre turned the dress inside out and laid it down on the bed. “I have an idea, but I need you to trust me.”
Harm shrugged. “It can’t get any worse. I say go for it.” She hugged him. “Besides, I do trust you.”
“Go take a long bath and soak your cares away. I’ve got this.” Tre gathered fabric here and there, coming up with a design. “I mixed you up a batch of margaritas. They’re on the table next to the tub.”
“I’ll take you up on the dress and the margaritas.” She closed the bathroom door, turned on the tub faucet, added a gardenia bath bomb, pinned up her hair, shrugged out of her clothes, and waded into warm bliss.
Reaching over, she turned on some heavy metal, poured herself a margarita, and let the world fall away.
Thirty minutes and two margaritas later, she emerged from the bathroom. The tequila had definitely taken the edge off. That must be why Momma drank so much Southern Comfort. Being perfect all of the time—especially when it mattered and wasn’t a joke—was a huge weight to bear.
Tre looked up. “Almost finished.” He ripped off more tape and smoothed it down over a gather he’d made with the fabric. Carefully, he turned the dress inside out and gently laid it on the bed.
Her hand came to her mouth. “Oh my God. How did you do that? It’s beautiful.”
The dress now had a V-neck that had the appearance of being a wrap dress, but only to the cinched waist. He’d gathered some of the extra material and fixed it to the left hip. The ruffles had been replaced by an asymmetrical hemline. It was very 1940s glam.
The floor was scattered with fabric scraps.
“I had to cut it, but beauty always comes at a cost.” Tre watched her very carefully. “Are you mad?”
“Are you kidding? Now I can wear it and actually make eye contact with people. I can’t wait to put it on. Not something I thought I’d ever say about that dress.” She hugged him. “Why aren’t you a designer?”
“You’re sweet.” He smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric. “Don’t be silly. I could never design clothes for a living.”
“That’s what everyone said about me and baking.” Especially Momma, but Harmony had finally worn her down, and now Momma acted like she was the one who had encouraged Harm to open the bakery. And she lorded it over her with a Chanel-gloved fist. “I heard a lot of ‘oh, it’s a great hobby and you’re so good at it, but there’s no money in it.’” She shrugged. “They were partly right. I’m not going to make millions, but I make a decent living doing what I love.”
“Correction, you haven’t made millions yet, but Food Network wants you to. That’s a really big deal.” Tre inspected the dress for flaws. He brushed some stray threads away. “Besides, I haven’t had an art class since elementary school. My parents didn’t believe in frivolous things like art and music, or anything that was any fun.”
“Can I just say that they sound like terrible people? I think we should give Cherry Cherry their address and have her run them over.” Tre was such a fantastic person but his parents had thrown him away.