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Thankfully, it fastened. I sucked a breath and held it as I fluffed my blond curls, wondering if I should have dyed them red instead so that I might have looked like Lucy bustling about waiting for Ricky to come home.

Checking the mirror again brought a scorching blush to my cheeks.

It was pretty.

Iwas pretty.

I cupped a hand to my mouth to stifle another giggle, almost smearing the fresh lipstick.

Stepping backward into the open space the bathroom, I gave a little twirl. The way the satin fanned around my legs and skimmed across my skin gave me goosebumps. I rubbed down my bare arms and moved in front of the mirror again, studying my new silhouette. The tapered waist gave the illusion of feminine curves, though I was obviously lacking in the bust. But that could be fixed with fabric tape and safety pins.

I pushed onto my tiptoes to try to see further down my front, then remembered the full-length mirror in our bedroom. Visions of stockings and kitten heels danced through my brain as I flung open the door and darted into the hall. I was halfway across the apartment when I spotted an unexpected figure standing in the living room.

“Loren!” I choked on a gasp.

He must have just arrived, barely inside with the latest issue ofARTnewsin his hand. He was buttoned up in an Oxford shirt and cardigan with gray slacks and polished black loafers, looking like he always did.

Looking like a man.

Like I should have.

I wanted to retreat, to scurry to the bathroom and refuse to come out until we both forgot about this, or at least until my stomach stopped its riotous churning and I was sure I wouldn’t vomit all over the rug.

Before I could bolt, Loren set the magazine on the table by the sofa and strode forward. His gaze swept over me from the legs I’d shaved this morning in preparation for my shoppingendeavor to the mascara sure to run the moment tears broke loose. His expression was unreadable.

I clasped my hands and twisted them together, stammering until something coherent came out. “I just wanted t-to try it. I can return it.”

“Why would you return it?” he asked.

“I-I can’t wear it out anywhere…”

“You can wear it here.”

With tears threatening, it was risky to blink, but my eyes were burning, so I gave in and looked around our cozy apartment. After making the circle from the living room to the kitchen and back again, I met Loren’s gaze.

“Isn’t that a bit of a waste?” I asked. Not to mention he hadn’t seen the price tag on the thing.

I was tense and cringing at having been caught, but Loren placed his hands on my waist—my waist that was so tiny tucked into the dress—and I started to relax.

“You look happy.” He gave my sides a squeeze.

“I am.” At least, I was. Now, I wasn’t sure how to feel.

Loren nodded. “Then it’s not a waste.”

Breath went stale in my lungs as his gaze roamed from the wide neckline that left me bare from shoulder to shoulder, then down to my toes which were turned inward and curling with embarrassment.

“Do you like it?” I whispered.

When he met my eyes, he smiled. “It’s beautiful, Doll,” he said.

“Doll?”

He bobbed his head again. “That’s what you look like. A perfect, pretty doll.”

The words were like garments all their own, compliments I wanted to try on and see if they fit.

Clasping my hands over Loren’s, I gave a twist that fanned the dress around my legs.