“Who knew you had such a cute shape? Where on earth have you been hiding that?”
Amy just blinked. She thought they were exaggerating and that the dress was too tight the way Tessa held it—certainly far tighter than the formfitting top Rachel had picked out for her. “I . . . don’t know. But—”
“You hide it under a lot of loose clothes, that’s where,” Tessa said.
“They’re not that loose,” Amy argued.
And then Tessa leaned up and whispered in Amy’s ear, “They’re too loose if you want to catch a hot man.”
Amy just blinked at herself in the mirror, mildly alarmed by Tessa’s words. Because she just didn’t think like that. About catching a man. Let alone a hot one. Or about showing off her body to do it.
Since the rest of the girls were already busy talking amongst themselves again, she turned to Tessa and said with quiet doubt, through lightly clenched teeth, “You think tight clothes and cleavage are going to make Logan fall in love with me?”
“No,” she replied. “But I think it could make him notice you in a whole new way. And then he might fall in love with you.”
Hmm. Amy had to think about that for a minute.
She wasn’t a naturally sexy person, and she’d never aspired to be something she wasn’t.
But Anna Romo was back in town and Logan was smitten with her. And even though Amy herself had never done it before, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with women dressing to show off their best assets.
And the longer she stood there, the more she saw the effect Tessa was talking about—her waist looked much more slender and her breasts stood out. And it really wasn’t all that uncomfortable now that she was getting used to it.
So she finally said to Tessa, “Okay, we’ll take it in at the waist.”
“Hooray,” Tessa said. “I’ll go get Mary Ann and tell her she has one more alteration.”
Of course, Amy knew it was going to take more than a fitted dress for Logan to really see her the way she wanted him to. And she still wouldn’t hold a candle to Anna Romo. And the very idea of trying to be sexy, sexual, felt very foreign to her, even despite the urges of her body.
But she figured, on the other hand, that it couldn’t hurt.
A nna sat in Mike and Rachel’s living room on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting easily on her knee, trying to be calm. And cool. And confident. That was how she’d dealt with her mother’s mental illness. By just trying to be . . . above it all. It was like a wall, a barrier, that allowed her to feel some control. Except her mother wasn’t her mother anymore. Tonight she was meeting her real mother. And she was scared shitless.
She supposed, deep inside, she’d felt that way ever since she’d realized she had no idea who she was. Anna Romo. Who came from a place she didn’t remember. From a family she didn’t know. The name still felt foreign on her tongue. Romo. Ro-mo. She’d learned it was Italian. In fact, last night Rachel had told her the story of how Anna’s real grandfather had come to America from Italy in the fifties and had a romance with Rachel’s grandma. It was a fascinating story. About people she didn’t know.
When the doorbell rang, she flinched. She watched as Rachel came from the kitchen, an apron covering her stylish capris and sleek, silky leopard-print top, and something about the sight made her smile. Rachel didn’t fit here anymore than she did—and yet . . . she’d learned how. She made it work. And she seemed incredibly happy. “That’ll be Lucky and Tessa,” she said. “And I just got a text from Mike—he and your parents should be here in a few minutes.”
“Great,” she said, hoping it sounded more sincere than sarcastic. Since it was sincere. Except that maybe being scared shitless added just a tinge of sarcasm. They were all so happy to have her here—had anyone stopped at any point to realize how difficult this was from her end, how hard it had
Amy just blinked. She thought they were exaggerating and that the dress was too tight the way Tessa held it—certainly far tighter than the formfitting top Rachel had picked out for her. “I . . . don’t know. But—”
“You hide it under a lot of loose clothes, that’s where,” Tessa said.
“They’re not that loose,” Amy argued.
And then Tessa leaned up and whispered in Amy’s ear, “They’re too loose if you want to catch a hot man.”
Amy just blinked at herself in the mirror, mildly alarmed by Tessa’s words. Because she just didn’t think like that. About catching a man. Let alone a hot one. Or about showing off her body to do it.
Since the rest of the girls were already busy talking amongst themselves again, she turned to Tessa and said with quiet doubt, through lightly clenched teeth, “You think tight clothes and cleavage are going to make Logan fall in love with me?”
“No,” she replied. “But I think it could make him notice you in a whole new way. And then he might fall in love with you.”
Hmm. Amy had to think about that for a minute.
She wasn’t a naturally sexy person, and she’d never aspired to be something she wasn’t.
But Anna Romo was back in town and Logan was smitten with her. And even though Amy herself had never done it before, she didn’t think there was anything wrong with women dressing to show off their best assets.
And the longer she stood there, the more she saw the effect Tessa was talking about—her waist looked much more slender and her breasts stood out. And it really wasn’t all that uncomfortable now that she was getting used to it.
So she finally said to Tessa, “Okay, we’ll take it in at the waist.”
“Hooray,” Tessa said. “I’ll go get Mary Ann and tell her she has one more alteration.”
Of course, Amy knew it was going to take more than a fitted dress for Logan to really see her the way she wanted him to. And she still wouldn’t hold a candle to Anna Romo. And the very idea of trying to be sexy, sexual, felt very foreign to her, even despite the urges of her body.
But she figured, on the other hand, that it couldn’t hurt.
A nna sat in Mike and Rachel’s living room on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting easily on her knee, trying to be calm. And cool. And confident. That was how she’d dealt with her mother’s mental illness. By just trying to be . . . above it all. It was like a wall, a barrier, that allowed her to feel some control. Except her mother wasn’t her mother anymore. Tonight she was meeting her real mother. And she was scared shitless.
She supposed, deep inside, she’d felt that way ever since she’d realized she had no idea who she was. Anna Romo. Who came from a place she didn’t remember. From a family she didn’t know. The name still felt foreign on her tongue. Romo. Ro-mo. She’d learned it was Italian. In fact, last night Rachel had told her the story of how Anna’s real grandfather had come to America from Italy in the fifties and had a romance with Rachel’s grandma. It was a fascinating story. About people she didn’t know.
When the doorbell rang, she flinched. She watched as Rachel came from the kitchen, an apron covering her stylish capris and sleek, silky leopard-print top, and something about the sight made her smile. Rachel didn’t fit here anymore than she did—and yet . . . she’d learned how. She made it work. And she seemed incredibly happy. “That’ll be Lucky and Tessa,” she said. “And I just got a text from Mike—he and your parents should be here in a few minutes.”
“Great,” she said, hoping it sounded more sincere than sarcastic. Since it was sincere. Except that maybe being scared shitless added just a tinge of sarcasm. They were all so happy to have her here—had anyone stopped at any point to realize how difficult this was from her end, how hard it had
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