“Aww, honey.” She gave her another squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
Kelsey waved her sympathy away. “We’re not here to boo-hoo about me. I’m here for the fun stuff. Get me in this dress that’s stolen your heart.”
Brynn clapped her hands together with glee. “I think you’re going to love it. It’s a fifties vintage.”
“Sweet, I’m already sold. I love fifties style.” Kelsey followed Brynn to the dressing area with a grin, her sister’s enthusiasm contagious.
Brynn reached into one of the unoccupied rooms and brought out the dress.
“Oh, my God,” Kelsey breathed, taking the hanger from her and holding the dress out, instantly in love. It was gorgeous, strapless, and ruby red. The fitted bodice gave it a sexy flirtiness, but the skirt of gathered tulle layers was pure vintage perfection. It was exactly the type of dress she would’ve picked for herself. “I want to marry this dress. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll go on a liquid diet before the wedding.”
Brynn laughed. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. But let’s try it on.”
They went into the dressing room, and Brynn fussed over her and helped her get it on, tugging everything into the right place and adjusting as needed. Finally, Brynn looked her up and down and nodded. “Turn around.”
Kelsey spun around and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her boobs were plumped up by the bodice, the waist cut at just the right place, and the tulle skirt hit her right past her knee. She did a little twirl. “It fits!”
Brynn pressed a hand to her chest like a proud mom. “It looks like it was made for you.”
“So we’re good, right? This is the one?” Kelsey asked, turning to her and rocking on the balls of her feet.
Brynn bit her lip. “Would you mind staying for a few more minutes? They have their hair and makeup person doing demos tonight and I want to see how everything will work together.”
Kelsey stared at her, amused. “You’re serious?”
She shrugged, a little sheepish. “I’m a perfectionist.”
“You’re nuts, but I love you. And sure.”
Half an hour later, Kelsey’s hair was in an intricate up-do and her makeup had been applied with expert skill, bringing out the blue in her eyes and the angle of her cheekbones but not looking overdone. Kelsey stood on the center platform between a trio of mirrors. “So, now do we have a winner, bride-to-be?”
“I’d say so,” said a familiar voice.
Kelsey spun around so fast, she almost knocked herself right off her heels.
Wyatt stood at the entryway of the dressing area. In a full tuxedo. He smiled that dimpled smile of his, looking like a movie star who’d just stepped off the red carpet. “You look amazing, Kelsey.”
Her tongue was like a dry sponge lodged in her mouth. She forced herself to breathe, to swallow. “What are you doing here?”
He grasped his hands behind him, a little tentative. “I thought maybe you’d let me give you a bit of normal tonight. Make up for something you deserved but never got.”
She stepped down from the platform, her heart like a bass drum in her ears. “I don’t understand.”
He walked over to her with measured steps like he was afraid she was going to run away if he moved too fast. But he never took his eyes off hers. He stopped an arm’s length away and pulled something from behind his back. “Kelsey LeBreck, would you go to prom with me?”
Her gaze dropped to the clear box in his hand and the delicate red and white corsage contained within. “Prom?”
He opened the box, pulled out the wrist corsage, and took her hand. “Just say yes, love.”
She didn’t understand what was going on. Thoughts were firing in her head at hyper-speed, but none were making any sense. Prom. Wyatt. Corsage. Wyatt. Dress. Wyatt. None of it mattered except the Wyatt part. Having him this close again, seeing the hint of mischief in his eyes, hearing that low, cajoling voice, she could only do one thing. She said yes.
He gave her the full wattage of his smile, kissed her hand, then slid the corsage over her wrist. “Thank you. I even have the white horse this time.”
She took his arm, wondering if she’d actually fallen asleep in the dressing room or hit her head on a sharp object. Maybe she was having some weird drug flashback. “This isn’t my dress. We can’t walk out—”
“It is and we can.”
“What?”