Diamond in the Dust (Lost Kings MC 18)

“Interesting choices,” I whisper to Angelina.

“They’re choices all right.”

Our heels sink into thick, pink carpets, muting our footsteps as we follow Mr. Holtzclaw.

He leads us to a room with a rounded, mirrored area and a pink carpeted dais in the center. Two large freestanding screens made up of several hinged panels provide all the privacy I think we’re going to be allowed.

The one on the left has a rack with three dresses. All long, flowing, beaded, shiny variations of a similar style. One in ice-blue, one in the palest pink, and the last in a rich gold. Lordy, every dimple and bump on my thighs will be on full display under that fine, smooth silk.

“I’ve admired your whimsical but sassy style for some time.” Clifford rests his hands on my shoulders and turns me toward the mirror. “Your sparkle manages to elevate your homemade costumes to something glamorous.”

Did the Duke of Tacky Interiors just pay me a compliment while puttin’ down my momma’s dressmaking skills?

“I’d love to see you transform your look to something more reflective of where your career’s headed,” he adds.

“I hope it’s headed down the long road Dolly Parton’s has taken.” Nervous laughter follows my attempt at a joke.

“No one is Dolly, dear.” He pats my shoulder.

The ice-blue is pretty but it reminds me too much of the dress Glenna Wilson wore to the Small Screen Awards. That’s all I need, people thinking I’m copying that wench.

“Let me try the gold one.”

Clifford pulls it from the rack with a flourish, directing me behind the screen. I brought my favorite spanky-undershorts with me to smooth out any bumpy spots, but I think this dress might require more sophisticated shapewear than my Walmart knockoffs.

Clifford’s still standing there waiting and I shoo him away. “I’ll call when I need ya.”

He dashes off with a hmph. On the other side of the screen, he starts describing the dresses he’s chosen for Angelina.

I twist and turn the hanger, peering at the dress. The back of my dress—well, there isn’t a back. There’s a glittering, satin string below my shoulder blades that holds the dress in place. Several thin, beaded cords running from the strap at the top to the fabric above my butt form an elegant cage. I carefully slip into it, trying not to get my arms tangled in all the fine little strings.

Phew. Sweat mists my forehead. These dang lights are awfully bright. I arrange the gown, pleased the front seems high enough to keep my girls contained. The skirt’s so long, it pools at my feet in a sloppy way. Guess that’ll need to be shortened. When I step forward, my leg peeks out. A closer inspection reveals high slits on both sides. Lordy, I’m gonna need to wear a bathing suit under this thing. How can I feel so naked wearing a dress with so much fabric?

“How’s it going in there, Shelby?” Angelina calls out.

“Okay.” I can’t seem to work the tiny zipper hidden under my armpit on my own. I step out from behind the screen and lift my arms. “Clifford?”

He glides over and zips me into place. “Perfection.”

“There’s a lot of dress here.” I scrunch the fabric at my hips and swish it around. “Yet, I feel awfully naked.”

Angelina’s shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re so modest to be in the entertainment industry.”

I shrug. Not the first time someone’s said that to me. Probably won’t be the last. “My bits are for my viewing pleasure only. Well, Rooster’s too,” I add with a giggle.

“I want to embroider that on a T-shirt.” Angelina trails her fingertips over her chest. “‘My bits are for my viewing pleasure only.’ It’s got a real inspirational feel to it.”

We both laugh so hard, I bump into her. She wraps her arms around my shoulders, keeping me upright, while we giggle into each other’s hair like little kids.

Clifford’s heavy sigh finally breaks us apart. A few stray giggles escape my lips. I’m so happy I didn’t have to dress shop alone.

“A backless dress requires excellent posture and the ability to pose in an alluring way,” Clifford lectures. “You’ll want to stand tall and coyly look over your shoulder for the cameras.”

I step onto the dais and execute a half twirl. The intricate beading catches the light, throwing off sparkles as I move. When the ties at the back stop swinging, I practice hooking my chin over my shoulder and posing.

“It’s really pretty on you, Shelby.” Angelina steps up behind me.

I smooth my hands over my hips that somehow look even fuller in the slim-fitting dress. “You sure? I usually go with stuff that kinda hides my hips.”

“Why?” She skims her hands in the air around my body without touching me. “You have a lovely shape.”

“Thanks.” The dress does seem to flatter everything I’ve got, even if it’s a little different from what I’d usually choose.