Page 59 of Your Rule to Break

“Want to show each other what we try on?” Zack asks. “Even if you don’t like it.”

“Let’s do it,” I agree.

I’ve put on tendresses, and so far, they’ve all been duds. I mean, they’re fine, but they don’t speak to me in the way that makes me think it’sthe one.I’m on my second glass of champagne and starting to get winded.

Why is it that trying on clothes does that to you? Makes it feel like you’re doing strenuous activity?

“Oooh, wait until you see these shorts, EJ. You’re going to lose it!” Zack yells from his dressing room.

I step into the next dress. Already, I’m obsessed with the color—almost like a dusty lavender with a touch of blue with it. When I put my arms in and start to pull it up, I already have a great feeling. I zip up the side effortlessly, like it’s about to fit perfectly.

I look into the mirror, set to natural light since we’re going to be on the beach.

Yes.We’re on to something here.

I spin to see the back, and already know I’ll be buying this, whether I wear it to the wedding or not. This is so coming homewith me.

The fabric is a light and flowy chiffon, the type that lifts a bit when you spin. It’s a maxi dress and I stand on my tip toes to confirm my suspicion—this will be perfect with the right heel.

Thick straps sit on my shoulders before trailing down the front, creating a dramatically deep V—my cleavage looks solid, even without any type of bra, meaning it will look way better when I’m wearing one. The bottom is classic, the type of skirt that moves and sashays with each step you take.

The same V is mirrored on the back, creating a mostly open, and deeply low, back. I smirk into the mirror and almost squeal. I love this dress so much.

I can’t wait to show Zack. My mouth feels like sandpaper, making it hard to swallow. Reaching for the flute of champagne, I take a sip, trying to push down the nerves. Why wouldn’t I be nervous to show the first dress I sincerely like to my very fashion forward fake, but sort of not fake, boyfriend?

Being someone with high anxiety, I prefer clear situations and relationships. Naturally, I’d find myself in something complicated like whatever Zack and I are doing. I’m going to overthink, no matter what, but right now it feels like there’s too much to overthink.

I shake my hands, trying to release the tension, and stop the impending clamminess that comes with sweaty, anxious palms. Tipping my head from left to right, I stretch my neck and shoulders, trying to create space between my chin and shoulders.

I walk the short distance to the area where Zack and I have been showing whatever we’re trying on.

“I’m serious. These shorts are going to turn into my whole personality in Mexico. I can’t wait—” Zack stops as soon as he sees me, his mouth dropping open and eyes taking me in from the top of my head to where the dress sweeps the floor.

His eyes on me feel like an itch you finally get to scratch. I do my best not to melt in a puddle because that’s my first response when he looks at me like this.

“That dress...,” he says while putting his hands on his hips. “Are you for real right now? You beachy goddess.” He reaches for a hand, which I give, and he spins me around.

I let out a laugh as he continues, “Great dancing dress. Nice and fluffy when you’re moving.” He’s gone from mouth open to a solid smile, and it hits me in the stomach, stealing my breath.

The dress is a little long, and I trip but fall right into Zack’s chest, like I’m on the set of a romcom movie. The one where the clumsy nobody falls into the arms of the handsome athlete. It’s humbling but also like a dream come true.

“It’s fucking gorgeous. Please get this one.” His voice is little as he leans forward, still holding me up.

I get myself upright with no assistance and take a couple steps back.

“You’re right on the shorts.” I need a topic shift—less me and more of anyone else. Zack is wearing blush pink shorts and a black shirt. I don’t know if I’ve seen another person pull off pink like this man can. Plus, it’s that short inseam that no one can get enough of.

We smile at each other before walking back to our respective rooms. When I’m in front of the mirror, I put my hands on my cheeks, feeling the warmth of my skin. I turn the fan setting up, needing more air.

I grab the zipper and pull. It only gets an inch down before it gets caught.Be gentle, Emilie, you want to wear this later, don’t ruin the zipper, I scold myself while pulling the zipper back up and trying again.

Stuck.

I think I need someone to pull the fabric as I zip. With the placement of it, I’m not able to get an angle or do it with two hands.

“Zack, can you help me with this zipper?” I call out.

He comes in a few seconds later.