Prom King

I open my eyes for a second and she nods, understanding. “Well, we’ll make sure you look great. You give them hell.”

I laugh. “I’ll try.”

My hair is already done, and the stylist managed to style my hair in a way I always wished it could look but never accomplished myself. It’s a simple style, falling in waves down my back with the sides twisted away from my face. I only get a glimpse of myself before she waves my eyes closed again, but Maren knows what she’s doing.

She’s brushing my face and lining my lips and I go into a zen-like zone while I let her work. I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear Lorraine’s voice. “How are we doing in here?”

“Geeze, Lorraine.”

“Sorry,” she grins. “Business voice. You look great!”

I glance toward the mirror, and she’s right. My eyes look bigger and more green than they usually are. She picked a deep berry color for my lips that I never would have chosen for myself. The effect is amazing. “Thank you,” I say to Maren.

“No problem.”

Lorraine guides me to dressing rooms. These aren’t your typical dressing rooms; they’re extra luxurious and usually reserved for the store’s A-list clients. “You’re going to look so badass,” she says, pointing to a room.

Behind the curtain I find an icy blue silk dress, and freeze. “Lor?”

“Yeah?” her voice is muffled across the room in her own alcove.

“What is this?”

I can practically hear her eyes roll. “It’s your dress.”

“I didn’t try anything like this on.”

She slides back the curtain already undressed to her underwear and it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “No, you didn’t try that dress on. But it came in after you’d already left and I knew that it would be perfect. And,” she says, holding out a finger before I interrupt, “if you absolutely hate it and want to set yourself on fire, I have a back-up dress. But you’re not going to hate it. It’s perfect.” She slides the curtain shut, and I know that I’m going to lose this fight.

I take a closer look at the dress. It’s beautiful. Turning it on the hanger, I see that this dress is backless. The thin beaded straps that I saw from the front fall all the way to the waist of the dress where it catches the drape. Is she crazy?

But I put the dress on. Lorraine has decided she wants to see me in this dress. So I’ll show her and tell her I want something different.

I slide back the curtain and walk to one of the pedestals that are framed by three-pane mirrors. And the sight of myself in the dress makes me freeze again.

Damn it. The fact that Lor is so, so right is going to make her day. Her year.

It’s not only that it’s a gorgeous dress, it’s that it’s the dress. There’s a book series that Lor and I loved as teenagers. She’s kind of moved on. I haven’t. I still love World’s Waterfall and I re-read it regularly, still hoping that the series will be finished before I’m too old to read it or the author dies. But there’s a scene in one of the books—the scene that everyone talks about where the hero and heroine finally get together—and she’s wearing a dress that is described a lot like this.

I won’t lie, the fact that I look like her is making me freak out inside. There’s an excitement building in my chest that I wasn’t expecting. Outside, I’m still frozen, standing and looking at myself in the mirror.

Lorraine comes out of her dressing room in her own dress, sees me and breaks into a huge smile. “Oh. My. God. You look fucking fantastic.”

“Lorraine, you know that this is the dress.”

“I know,” she grins. “When it came in, I just knew. I knew you had to have that dress.”

I shake my head, looking back at my reflection. I look like I always imagined the heroine would, beautiful and ethereal. But how can I take this, the way I look and feel, into a situation that’s sure to blow up into a massive shit storm? When I say as much to Lorraine, she rolls her eyes.

“Girl, you are wearing that dress. And I believe that the power of that dress will overcome anything bad that could possibly happen. And if people are idiots, I’m going to take you out and we’ll paint the town blue with you in that dress because we’re not wasting it.”

“Okay.” I’m not totally convinced, but her enthusiasm makes me want to believe.

I slide into the silver shoes that she put in my dressing room and switch my essentials into my clutch. We’re leaving the rest of our stuff here. Lor will get it later. I guess there’s not anything else to do except…go to the party.

Lorraine loops her arm in mine and I brace myself. I hope I don’t regret this.

3

Adam

I’m honestly not sure why I’m here. Sure, the Plaza is beautiful, but there aren’t a lot of people from high school that I want to see. A couple, maybe, but this party is way over the top.

The minute I walked into the ballroom I felt out of place. I never felt like I belonged in this crowd of people when I was seventeen, I sure don’t feel like I fit in now that everyone has grown up to be richer and more pretentious.

A girl waves at me from across the room. I smile and nod, but I don’t remember her. Heading over to the bar, I wait in the line avoiding eye contact with anyone. My father thought it would be a good idea for me to come, show my face to some of my now-famous classmates. Everyone who went to my school is someone now—or at least it feels that way.

“Adam Carlisle!” A hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn to find Trent Bingham—one of the few people I was close with in high school, though we haven’t seen each other in years. I’m not going to admit how relieved I am to see a familiar face.

I clap him on the back as well. “Hey, man. How are you?”

“Pretty good,” he says as we move forward in the line. “Absolutely hating this. You?”

“Oh, I’m having the time of my life,” I deadpan.

He laughs. “Yeah, I thought so. What are you up to now?”

“Medicine,” I say.

“You actually did it. Congrats. That’s huge! What’s your specialty?”

We’ve reached the bar now, and I order a whiskey. “Pediatrics.”

Trent shakes his head, “The women must love you.”

I squash down a grimace. “I do all right.” I’d rather not talk about that complicated part of my life right now. “What are you doing?”

“Finance. Pretty standard answer in this room I’d imagine.”

“Probably,” I chuckle, “But it’s still a good one.” I raise my glass to him, and he cheers as well.

Walking away from the bar, we find a table near the dance floor, which is empty. We’re still in the eating and mingling phase of the party.

“I honestly didn’t expect to see you here. You were never one for parties.”

“No,” I shake my head. “You’re right. It was suggested I might want to show my face to all the fancy people to make sure my reputation and public profile get a boost.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I smile. Trent was one of the guys I could always be real with, and even in the couple minutes we’ve been back together it feels that way again. He’s always had a gift for making people feel comfortable and open, something I imagine comes in handy in the finance world.

“Ah, yes,” Trent says, putting on a tone. “So that big investors like me will be impressed by your work in the pediatric field and make a generous donation to your hospital.”

“Precisely.”