Page 37 of Replacement
“Of course. Sounds lovely.”
His eyes are unusually soft, almost fond. I have to remind myself that he’s looking that way at Amber, not at me.
It’s like cold water dashed over my warm contentment. I really have to be more careful than this.
Suddenly afraid I’m not being Amber-like enough, I add with a flirtatious smile, “I’ll have to buy a new dress for the ballet.”
His lips twitch again. “I’ll look forward to seeing it.”
* * *
I stare at my reflection in the full-length, tri-fold mirror in the loft studio of a trendy local designer.
The evening gown I’m wearing has been pinned so it fits me perfectly. It’s a long white column sheath with a graceful drape of fabric over one shoulder that gives it a faintly Greek flavor. The dress is elegant, flattering, and sophisticated—and perfectly characteristic of Amber’s taste in clothes. I’m surprised by how good I look in it since white isn’t a color I’d ever wear by choice.
The dress is beautiful, stylish, classy… and kind of boring.
“It’s perfect,” says one of the designer’s assistants, an effusive young man named Reid. “I knew it would be perfect for you, Ms. Delacourte. It’s exactly you!”
I’ve never been to a private fitting with a designer before, but Amber must have done this fairly often when she needed an outfit for an important occasion since Reid talks as if we’re familiar with each other. “Yeah.” I try to suppress a sigh. “I suppose it is.”
The dress is certainly Amber. And I’m supposed to be Amber. So this is probably the dress I should choose.
“Would you like to try on something else?” Reid asks, evidently seeing something lacking in my expression.
“Maybe. I do love this, especially the Greek look of it. But I don’t know… I’m feeling like it might be nice to have a change of pace. Maybe something that’s not white?”
There’s no way I can get away with wearing a dress of crimson or emerald since it would be too far out of character for Amber. But a little color would be nice and surely won’t be too dangerous.
When Reid appears surprised, I add hurriedly, “I don’t think I’m tan enough at the moment to really pull off a sleeveless white dress.”
He smiles, as if in understanding, and then pauses to reflect before he perks up. “Oh, I know. If you like the Greek look, we have an absolutely gorgeous option—but the color is bronze. Is that too much?”
“Let’s try it. If it’s too much, I can always go with this one.”
“Or you can get both.” He laughs as he adjusts a couple of the pins in the white gown. Then he and another assistant help me out of the first dress and then into the new one.
Once it’s pinned, I stare at myself in the mirror again—this time with absolute delight. The bronze silk jersey fabric drapes gracefully over my shoulders in two thick straps that crisscross at the bodice in a low V-neck. The curves of my figure are emphasized by the clingy fabric and the wide, intricately beaded band that cinches just under my breasts. The drapes and softly pleated folds of fabric give it the same Grecian look I liked in the previous gown, but this one manages to look sensual and unique as well as sophisticated.
I clap my hands in excitement. “I love it!”
“It’s divine. I wouldn’t have thought about it for you, but it’s stunning.”
He and the other assistant fuss over me for a few minutes, as they admire my gorgeousness from every angle in the mirror. Then they take it off so it can be tailored for me in time for the ballet, and I change back into my pants and sweater.
I’m picking up my purse when Reid says in a teasing tone that indicates familiarity, “Mr. Worthing must have been a very good boy for you to agree to go to the ballet with him.”
I blink in confusion. “What?”
Reid frowns, his brows drawing together. “I was just teasing. Everyone knows you despise the ballet and always refuse to go with him. I was just wondering at your change of heart.”
I freeze, suddenly slammed with a wave of mortified heat. The flush moves from my cheeks to my neck and then down to the rest of my body.
I’ve blown it. I’veblownit. I’ve given myself away. Without ever realizing I was doing so. Amber hates the ballet. I never knew that about her, but maybe it’s a distaste she developed over the past several years. What the hell must William have thought when I agreed to go with him so easily? Why the hell had he invited me as if he assumed I wouldn’t accept?
I mumble in a somewhat convincing tone, “He has been a very good boy.” And I’m relieved when I’m able to leave the studio.
Had William been testing me? Does he suspect I’m not Amber?