Page 34 of A Very Happy Easter

“Are you kidding me? No way. You’re going to a family Halloween party. There will be kids there, and security. It’s hardly going to be a den of debauchery.”

“I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

“What idea? That you identify as female?”

“It’s the boobs.”

“Edes, I love you. You know I do. But even if you’d been wearing a burka that night, that psycho would have torn it off.”

Logically, I knew that. I did. Rates of sexual assault in the Muslim community were no lower than in others, and perhaps even higher. But that still didn’t stop me from wanting to hide myself away.

“I’ll take a shawl and say I’m cold.”

My phone buzzed, and a few seconds later, the doorbell rang. Heath had the gate code, but I hadn’t yet given him a key.

“I’ll get it,” Salma said. “Leave the shawl. With that skirt, nobody can get near you anyway. Did you think about how you’re going to fit in the car?”

“Perhaps I should change into jeans and put the dress back on when I get there?”

“No time.”

“Maybe we could strap her to the roof?” Jerilyn suggested. She was joking, of course, but as I looked at my dress and then at the car door, the roof idea didn’t seem so outrageous.

“Try crawling in,” Salma said. “Heath can go around the other side and pull your arms.”

“Are you joking? My boobs will pop out.”

She tilted her head to one side, studying me. “No, that corset is pretty tight.”

Heath was trying not to laugh, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day your fake girlfriend got into a battle with a Mercedes. He’d added a waistcoat under his tuxedo jacket and a cape over the top, then slicked back his brown hair so it was ready for the Phantom’s half mask currently sitting on the dashboard as we puzzled over my predicament. My gratitude and relief at how well he was playing his part left me feeling warm and fuzzy inside. Or was that heatstroke? This dress weighed a ton.

He sucked in a breath. “How about this—I get in the car, and Edie backs up to the door. I grab her around the waist and pull while the two of you shove the dress in behind her.”

Salma and Jerilyn looked at each other, and finally, Salma nodded.

“Let’s try it.”

I ended up wedged in the back seat in a cloud of satin and chiffon, grimacing while Salma motorboated me as she fumbled for the seat belt.

“Sorry,” she muttered as she spat out a mouthful of wig hair. “Next year, we’re going as the Avengers. There’s a lot to be said for Lycra.”

“Want to trade places?” Heath asked.

“No way. I’m riding in the front.”

“Here’s your mask, sweetie,” Jerilyn said, passing it to him through the window.

He closed his eyes and groaned. “Fuck my life.”

Logistical issues aside, the dress was great. Eisen bravely waded in to kiss me on the cheek, but everyone else was forced to stand three feet away. There was one hairy moment when a toddler decided to burrow beneath the layers, but Heath quickly came to the rescue and plucked him out of the sea of ruffles.

“Hey, little guy. Not under there.”

The kid was dressed as a turtle. Not the ninja kind, more of a tortoise really, but his shell was red. He made a grab for Heath’s mask, and Heath ducked his head to the side, laughing.

“That’s too big for you. Where’s your mum?”

An exaggerated shrug.