Read Online Being Shirley by Michelle Vernal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michelle Vernal
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try on.”
***
Fifteen minutes after they’d gone Dutch on their dinner bill, Carl’s dulcet tones rang out from the behind the shop-side counter of Modern Bride. “Have you died in there, sweetness? Because I am at risk of passing away of old age if you’re much longer.”
“No, I’m not ready yet. Hold your horses! It’s not that easy getting into one of these things, you know.”
“Does Madam require assistance?” That from haughty Amanda, who hovered like an annoying wasp by the next size up in the rack of dresses from which Annie had lovingly plucked her Julianne Tigre from.
“No, thank you, I am fine. I won’t be a sec— and you lot can shove your harps where the sun don’t shine, too ,” she hissed at the cherubs that gazed out at her from the wallpaper in a fitting room that was size wise on a par with her master bedroom. Its over-the-top Regency theme was at odds with the shop’s namesake Modern Bride. She frowned as she prepared to suck in one last time, because nobody loved a quitter.
At last she wrested the zipper into place and exhaled slowly, relieved there was no sudden ripping sound. She paused in front of the mirror for a glimpse before she opened the door and did the big reveal. She blinked. Oh my God—was it really her? Unable to believe her own eyes, she blinked again as she registered the reflection that gazed back at her. Yes, yes, alright so the dress was on the snug side , she thought as she ran her hands down all that lovely soft satinyness. But all brides lost weight before their wedding due to the stress of organising it. Everybody knew that—it was a fact. Or at least she was fairly sure it was a fact. Aside from not being able to breathe, though, she and the dress—the combination of them both together—well, it was everything she had ever dreamed of.
This really was her princess moment but it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known the moment she’d laid her eyes upon the swathe of ivory fabric on display in the shop window that it would be. She twirled slowly and became aware of an impatient foot that tapped outside the fitting room. With one last glimpse in the mirror over her shoulder, she called out, “Okay, I am ready, so shut your eyes!”
“She’s ready—thank God for that!” Carl glanced over at Haughty Amanda, whose lips pursed as she raised her eyes heavenward and sent up a silent prayer that madam hadn’t split the delicate seams of the satin.
Annie opened the door and glided out onto the shop floor. “Okay, you can open them now.” Fully aware that Carl was peeping anyway, she smiled tremulously at him. “Well, what do you think?”
Carl clasped his hands steeple-like in front of his mouth as his eyes swept from her head to her toes but gave nothing away as she slowly twirled around.
Annie shifted awkwardly; her hands dropped back down to her sides. “Come on then, what do you think—do you like it?” She was surprised at how much it mattered to her that he approve.
Carl blinked rapidly.
“Don’t cry.”
He fanned his hand in front of his face in an effort to compose himself. “I can’t help it. Oh, it’s, Annie, it’s—oh, you just look so—”
“What? What do I look? Spit it out!” Annie nearly shrieked, desperate for the verdict.
“Beautiful, exquisite, perfect—oh, I’d need a thesaurus to put all the adjectives to describe how you look into words—”
“It does rather become Madam, I must agree, although perhaps it is a little tight across the hips?” Haughty Amanda homed in to give the bodice a little tug where the fabric had wrinkled ever so slightly thanks to the snug fit. Annie was having none of it as she shied away from the older woman’s hands.
“It’s fine, truly. It fits me just fine.” Or it will once I drop the choccie biscuits at morning teatime , she self-affirmed.
“Oh, I thought of some more: stunning, gorgeous, ethereal—” Carl continued to wax lyrical, “but—”
Annie lapped up all
***
Fifteen minutes after they’d gone Dutch on their dinner bill, Carl’s dulcet tones rang out from the behind the shop-side counter of Modern Bride. “Have you died in there, sweetness? Because I am at risk of passing away of old age if you’re much longer.”
“No, I’m not ready yet. Hold your horses! It’s not that easy getting into one of these things, you know.”
“Does Madam require assistance?” That from haughty Amanda, who hovered like an annoying wasp by the next size up in the rack of dresses from which Annie had lovingly plucked her Julianne Tigre from.
“No, thank you, I am fine. I won’t be a sec— and you lot can shove your harps where the sun don’t shine, too ,” she hissed at the cherubs that gazed out at her from the wallpaper in a fitting room that was size wise on a par with her master bedroom. Its over-the-top Regency theme was at odds with the shop’s namesake Modern Bride. She frowned as she prepared to suck in one last time, because nobody loved a quitter.
At last she wrested the zipper into place and exhaled slowly, relieved there was no sudden ripping sound. She paused in front of the mirror for a glimpse before she opened the door and did the big reveal. She blinked. Oh my God—was it really her? Unable to believe her own eyes, she blinked again as she registered the reflection that gazed back at her. Yes, yes, alright so the dress was on the snug side , she thought as she ran her hands down all that lovely soft satinyness. But all brides lost weight before their wedding due to the stress of organising it. Everybody knew that—it was a fact. Or at least she was fairly sure it was a fact. Aside from not being able to breathe, though, she and the dress—the combination of them both together—well, it was everything she had ever dreamed of.
This really was her princess moment but it wasn’t a surprise. She’d known the moment she’d laid her eyes upon the swathe of ivory fabric on display in the shop window that it would be. She twirled slowly and became aware of an impatient foot that tapped outside the fitting room. With one last glimpse in the mirror over her shoulder, she called out, “Okay, I am ready, so shut your eyes!”
“She’s ready—thank God for that!” Carl glanced over at Haughty Amanda, whose lips pursed as she raised her eyes heavenward and sent up a silent prayer that madam hadn’t split the delicate seams of the satin.
Annie opened the door and glided out onto the shop floor. “Okay, you can open them now.” Fully aware that Carl was peeping anyway, she smiled tremulously at him. “Well, what do you think?”
Carl clasped his hands steeple-like in front of his mouth as his eyes swept from her head to her toes but gave nothing away as she slowly twirled around.
Annie shifted awkwardly; her hands dropped back down to her sides. “Come on then, what do you think—do you like it?” She was surprised at how much it mattered to her that he approve.
Carl blinked rapidly.
“Don’t cry.”
He fanned his hand in front of his face in an effort to compose himself. “I can’t help it. Oh, it’s, Annie, it’s—oh, you just look so—”
“What? What do I look? Spit it out!” Annie nearly shrieked, desperate for the verdict.
“Beautiful, exquisite, perfect—oh, I’d need a thesaurus to put all the adjectives to describe how you look into words—”
“It does rather become Madam, I must agree, although perhaps it is a little tight across the hips?” Haughty Amanda homed in to give the bodice a little tug where the fabric had wrinkled ever so slightly thanks to the snug fit. Annie was having none of it as she shied away from the older woman’s hands.
“It’s fine, truly. It fits me just fine.” Or it will once I drop the choccie biscuits at morning teatime , she self-affirmed.
“Oh, I thought of some more: stunning, gorgeous, ethereal—” Carl continued to wax lyrical, “but—”
Annie lapped up all
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