“It’s gorgeous! You look like you could be in a magazine.” Jess fluffed the skirt a little more. I stared at her until she finally sighed. “Fine. Let’s try something a little more boring.”

“Good idea.” I stepped off the little platform and gathered up the skirt in my arms. Jess followed close behind so she could help me undo the four thousand little buttons along the back.

“You know, this is a huge moment. Your chance to make a big statement.” Jess looked at me seriously. “You need to go in there, large and proud. Don’t let them treat you like the dirty cousin from America. Show ’em you’re someone to contend with.”

“You make this sound like high school.” I wiggled out of the dress and helped her put it back on the hanger, which promptly bowed in the middle, struggling to support the weight of the dress.

“I’m serious. You need to go in there and let them know you’re Samantha Effing Rousseau. You’re gorgeous, you’re brilliant, and you won’t take any shit.” Jess stood up and looked at me. “They need to know that right away.”

I thought about what she was saying. First impressions were important. If I would dress up to give a speech at a bird convention, there was no reason I shouldn’t dress up for a meeting with the queen. I turned and looked at the next dress on the rack and contemplated it.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, but we need to make the right statement. No froufrou stuff.” I pushed the hangers aside and met Jess’s eyes in the mirror.

“I know just the dress.” She ran out of the little room and I stood there contemplating what I was doing. I hated that I was making these decisions. I felt like I was doing this blind. And the worst part was there were people standing outside the store with cameras, trying to see what I was buying.

When Jess came back she and held up a dress, I knew she had nailed it on the head. It was simple but elegant. Sexy but discreet: simple cap sleeves with an A-line skirt, the black material shining softly in the dressing room lights. There was a simple black belt that added a little something extra and gave it even more personality. I ran my hands over the gown and almost squealed in delight. There were pockets.

“You’ve been saving this one.” I turned my eyes to Jess and glared at her. “You made me try on those God-awful dresses, knowing full well I would hate them. And this was in the store the whole time!”

“So you like it?” Jess smiled from ear to ear.

“You sneaky bitch! That last dress was torture!” I held my hand out for the hanger and she laughed.

“It worked, didn’t it? I could have brought a trash bag in here and you would have been excited.” Jess helped me pull the dress up and work the hidden zipper.

When I turned around to look in the mirror, I froze. The dress fit perfectly, which was lucky considering there wasn’t time for alterations. Jess did something to my hair, twisting it up off my neck in a messy bun that countered the streamlined look of the dress.

“Understated elegance.” Jess nodded her head like she had designed the dress herself.

“It’s perfect.” I turned so I could see the back of the dress.

“Let’s go show the others.” Jess swung the door open and motioned for me to go out first. I had to pick the skirt up to walk, but with heels it would be perfect. Outside, the curtains had been pulled over the large front windows and Sarah was waiting in a chair, her notebook in her lap. She looked up and a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, you look lovely.”

I stepped onto the little block in front of the mirror and looked at myself. It was silly, but I suddenly felt royal. I guess that was the magic of a beautiful dress. The shop owner brought over a pair of black high heels in my size. I slipped them on and looked again at the mirror. They were the perfect height. The skirt no longer hung too low, but they weren’t so high I couldn’t walk.

A phone beeped and I looked around to see who it belonged to, but no one moved to answer it. The phone beeped again and I looked at the shop owner, but she shook her head. I stepped down from the pedestal and walked over to my bag. I picked up the new phone and looked at the screen.

“Who has this number?” There were two text messages.

“The duchess and the prince, Jess, and your father.” Sarah looked back through her notebook. “And your security detail.”

651-555-1212: How is the dress shopping going?

I grabbed my other phone and checked to make sure it really was Alex’s number before replying.

ME: I hate it, but I found one.

Alex: Send me a picture.

ME: Nope.

Alex: Then send me a picture without the dress.

ME: Pervert.

Alex: You have no idea.

I laughed and turned the phone off. When I looked up, I realized everyone was staring at me. “What?”

“Who was that?” Jess asked, her eyes amused.

“Alex.” I cleared my throat and turned back to the shop owner. “I’d like to get this one. Do you have anything else made by this designer?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The shop owner’s eyes lit up and I realized I hadn’t thought to ask the price. I tried to see the tag under my arm, but there were no numbers—never a good sign. I looked back at the mirror and decided that at this point, it didn’t matter. I was getting the dress.

I tried on several more: a ball gown, a pearly silver sheath with a boat neck, covered in sequins and jewels; a red tea-length dress; and another black dress Jess had insisted on. It was form-fitting with short sleeves and a slit in the collar that went well into my cle**age. It was daring and beautiful. I couldn’t imagine ever wearing it.