Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side by Beth Fantaskey Page B

me back toward the dressing rooms. I stopped him at the entrance with a firm hand on the chest. "You wait here."
     
    "Let me see, though."
     
    In the privacy of the dressing room, I kicked off my Chucks, wriggled out of my jeans and T-shirt, and slipped on the dress, wishing I was wearing a nicer bra. A bra that would do the dress justice.
     
    Although it looked delicate, the fabric was heavier and softer than anything I'd ever owned. I zipped up the back as far as I could, the dress fell into place around me, and suddenly all the places I hated most on my body transformed into my best assets. My breasts filled out the bodice even better than the mannequins angular, skimpy little peaks. Looking at myself in the mirror, I remembered what Lucius had said about "pointy" girls and the benefits of having curves. In that dress, I understood what he meant. The hem swirled around my knees, and I twirled a little, staring at my front. My back. The fabric swept close to my full hips and draped perfectly across my butt. Lucius had been right. I looked good. It was like a magic dress.
     
    "Well?" Lucius called from outside the dressing room. "How is it?"
     
    "It's pretty," I admitted, understating how I really felt. Which was beautiful
     
    "Come out, then."
     
    "Oh, I don't know ..." I was kind of embarrassed to show him. I glanced down at my chest. Skin usually covered by shirts was peeking out. The swell of my breasts—breasts I usually tried to de-emphasize—was visible for the world to see. For Lucius to see. It wasn't obscene, by any standard. But it was revealing for me.
     
    "Jessica, you promised."
     
    "Oh . . . okay." I tried to pull up the bodice a little but to no avail. My curves refused to hide. "Don't laugh or anything. Or stare."
     
    "I will not laugh," Lucius promised. "There will be no reason to laugh. But I might stare."
     
    Taking a deep breath, I shoved aside the curtain.
     
    Lucius was lounging in the chair set out for bored husbands, his long legs stretched in front of him. But when he saw me, he shot straight up. Like I'd jolted him. And I swore I saw appreciation in his black eyes.
     
    "Well?" I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest as I spun to look in the mirror. "What do you think?"
     
    "You—you look amazing." Lucius stood, coming up behind me, never taking his eyes off me.
     
    “ Really?"
     
    "Beautiful, Antanasia," he murmured. "Beautiful."
     
    Before I could remind him not to call me by that name, Lucius stepped even closer to me, slipped his hand under my long, unruly hair, and pulled the zipper all the way up. "Women always need help with the last few inches."
     
    I swallowed hard. How experienced was he? "Urn, thank you.
     
    "My pleasure." Then, to my intense surprise, Lucius snaked his fingers into my curls and gathered them up into a big, loose twist on top of my head. Suddenly, my neck looked very long. "Now that's how a Romanian princess should look," he said, drawing down to whisper in my ear. "Don't ever again say that you are not 'valuable,' Antanasia. Or not beautiful. Or, for god's sake, 'fat.' When you get the urge to indulge in such ridiculous, misplaced self-criticism, remember yourself at this moment."
     
    No one had ever paid me a compliment like that.
     
    For a minute, we stood there admiring me. I met Lucius's eyes in the mirror. In that split second, I could almost picture us . . . together.
     
    Then he released my hair. It tumbled down my back, and the spell was broken. I glanced down at the price tag. "Oh my gosh. I have got to take this off. Right now. Before I sweat on it or something."
     
    Lucius rolled his eyes. "If you must refer to 'sweat' in reference to yourself—and I strongly discourage it—use the word perspire."
     
    "I'm serious, Lucius. I'm about to start perspiring over the price."
     
    Lucius bent to read the number on the tag and shrugged.
     
    I hurried back to the dressing room, yanking on my jeans and lacing up my battered