Because the Night

the blue dress

It was the next morning, already. Her mouth was sticky with a bad taste. But before she went to the bathroom, Lily had to do one thing. It was like scratching a leg after two days without moisturizer. It was a need. 

She put on the dress, first. 

Lily chose the blue one. She chose it to surprise him, because he was expecting the red. If it hadn't been for the rhinestones running up the side seam, highlighting the journey her curves took to connect her legs and her torso, the dress might've been simple enough to wear to an office job. She inspected the stones in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. 

That morning, Lily felt like she was climbing to get ready. Each step she took brought her closer to wearing the dress right. Foundation. Blush. Mascara. That highlighter her friend gave her as a graduation present. All of it went on. Until it was maybe a little extra, and some of it came off. She left a few tissues of make-up in the basket.

Annabelle burst into Lily's bathroom before she got a chance to make the formal debut — which she'd downplay, of course. Like, Mom, stop making a big deal of this dress, I don't know what you're talking about. That kind of thing. 

Instead, Annabelle rushed in asking for a washcloth, because hers just fell on the floor and the 'five second rule doesn't apply to things you put on your face." Instead she got smacked by her daughter's appearance. Was it 9 in the morning or 11p.m. at a club in Cancun? Because Lily was definitely dressed for one occasion over the other. 

"Now that is a dress," she said. 

They both stood in the mirror, looking at her. 

"If I'm going to be demonstrating, apparently I had to wear something nicer. Don't say it." 

Annabelle smiled in the mirror. She was about to say it. 

"I don't you so!" 

Lily shook her head ans moothed own the dress. She had a grand appearance to take care of. If Diego was going to treat her like a child, she was going to show him what he was missing out on. 

So, after breakfast — which Lily could hardly eat for fear of getting a single crumb off a dress which wasn't even hers to begin with — she walked to the lake lounge. There he was. On the stool.Fiddling with the radio.

Wearing jeans. 

Jeans!

He looked up when he heard the pitter patter of her heels. This is it, she thought. The make it or break it moment. Either he was going to melt into a puddle of goo or she should crush the tiny little crush that was forming (and how couldn't it! look at him!) with her feet, like it was a cigarette – like it was a bad idea. 

His eyes ran up her body, starting with those three-inch black heels. Her toned calves. her less toned thighs. Her body, he scanned it. Making its conclusion. 

A conclusion that she couldn't read. He nodded once. Approval that she did as he'd asked, maybe. 

"I wore this, and you wore jeans?" She complained as she got closer. She turned ehads. His was back at the stereo. 

"I had a feeling you weren't going to wear the dress. I wanted to match," he said, shrugging. "Tomorrow, back to the tux, I guess." 

"If I wear a dress, that is." 

He looked up from where he was crouched. She couldn't imagine the angle he was seeing her. "I'll make sure you wear a dress tomorrow," he said, but he partly growled it. His voice dropped into the assertive tone of a man who knows he'll already get what he wants. He doesn't need to march to her room. She wore the dress, and she'll wear the dress tomorrow.