Page 86 of No Mistakes

I try lowering myself onto the sofa beside her, but the slit falls wide open, sending a cold draft straight past my panties.

“Back in I go,” I sigh, sliding the curtain shut behind me.

Midnight blue velvet. Eva tilts her head, examining me. “Love the vibe,” she admits, before squinting. “Hate the sleeves.”

“What’s wrong with the sleeves?” I ask, holding them up in the mirror.

“You look like an extra in an Austin Powers movie,” she says, struggling not to laugh.

I reappear in the next dress like I’m on a runway, striking a pose in front of her, hoping that it might give me a better chance of a yes.

Eva tosses a chip in her mouth. “Gold star for effort… if you wanted to look like a disco ball.”

A snort comes from beside us, and I turn to see the stylist doing her best to keep a straight face. I sigh and look back at Eva. “Next?”

She nods quickly. “Be careful, one wrong spotlight and you’ll blind half the room.”

I flip her off over my shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain again.

We’ve been here nearly two hours, and I’ve lost track of how many dresses I’ve tried on. I pull the next one over my head, the silver fabric clinging to me like static every time I move.

I push the curtain aside, but I don’t even make it three steps before Eva crooks a finger, sending me straight back inside.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

She leans forward with her chin in her hand like she’s judging a cooking show. “Pretty. Boring. Next.”

“Wow. Harsh,” I mutter, walking back to the curtain.

Before I have the chance to pull it closed, the stylist runs over, carrying a garment bag like it’s the crown jewels. She unzips it slowly, and Eva stands, walking over to see what it is. The moment the dress is visible, everyone around us falls silent.

It’s red.

Not just any red, but a deep, rich shade that looks like it was made to get people talking. Off-the-shoulder straps that sit mid-arm, a fitted bodice that is hidden underneath the material, and a floor-length skirt that flows like liquid.

Eva’s jaw drops. “That’s the one. I swear to god, Mandy, if you don’t buy it, I will.”

I raise a brow. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a disco ball?”

She scoffs, pushing me back gently until I’m in the dressing room. “Go. Now,” she says quickly.

The stylist follows me into the changing area, closing the curtain behind us. She pulls the dress out carefully, and I can’t help but be mesmerised. I step into it carefully as the stylist slides it over my skin effortlessly, like it was made for me. She zips it up, taking a step back.

“Are you ready?” she asks, her smile beaming.

I nod, taking a slow breath as I push the curtain aside, stepping out into the open.

The room goes silent as all conversations fade, the rustle of hangers stopping as I walk further into the room. A couple of heads turn, and someone whispers. It’s quiet enough that I hear the faint clink of champagne glasses from somewhere across the boutique.

Eva’s the only one who doesn’t look surprised, and she leans back with a slow, satisfied smile. “Holy shit. Ant’s going to fucking freak.”

I walk forward, heels clicking against the polished floor, and I step on the circular platform in front of the mirror. For a moment, I don’t recognise myself. The red is deep and dangerous, the kind of colour that commands a room without a single word.

The fit is flawless. The off-the-shoulder straps rest against my skin like they’ve always belonged there. My hair falls loose around me, and for a second I feel like the air’s shifted, like maybe everyone else in the room is seeing it too.

Eva stands, circling me like she’s appraising a masterpiece. “Minimal accessories. Hair down. And the right heels… you’re gonna need heels sharp enough to kill.”

I glance at her reflection beside mine, then back at the woman in the mirror - at me - and the smile that spreads across my face is real, fierce, and maybe just a little dangerous.