Thea gasped.
It was as if this dress had been made for Bryar. Her hands covered her mouth as her friend emerged from behind the screen, looking totally transformed. It wasn’t just the way it flattered her figure, it was her face, the light in her expression, her confidence. Clapping her hands in delight, Thea wondered if this was what it felt like to be someone’s fairy godmother.
And her boobs!
“They look incredible!” Thea enthused, truthfully. Gods, there was no way her own boobs would have stayed in that neckline. But Bryar’s looked secure enough, and as she came forward to carefully adjust the dress, they looked even better. “You look completely amazing. You’ll have every boy’s attention for miles around.” Bryar swished the dress, happiness bright in her eyes, and Thea laughed delightedly, like a child on Christmas morning. When was the last time she’d felt so wholesome, so free? Certainly not while choosing her own gown for the evening.
“Oh, not at all. Dressing you was way more fun than dressing myself.” But Bryar was partly right – this had proven a charming distraction from the decision she had to make, and now (as before) it loomed large. Thea bit her lip as she surveyed her final choices, laid out carefully on the bed. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to confide in Bryar about the implications of her decision, and who specifically she wanted to impress. The only person she’d really told about her near-decade long infatuation was Kane, and that had been a confession aided by island water, and fueled by the parallelism in their situations. Somehow, Thea doubted that Bryar was capable of nursing a crush that long. She seemed like the type to move on quickly and decisively.
Gods, maybe she should tell her.
“I’m thinking about this one,” she says instead, running her fingers over a gauzy, light gray gown shot through with threads of silver, like starlight. It had a low V neck and matching back, but not too low, and not nearly as low as Bryar’s – her own boobs were quite booby enough without drawing too much attention. The illusion sleeves were so sheer that the shimmer adorning them from shoulder to wrist would blend into her own sparkling magic, once night fell. It was undeniably a beautiful dress, but…
“I’m just…not sure Tristan will like it.”
Her voice was very quiet, as if she might have been thinking out loud. But she glanced sideways at Bryar when she said it, dispensing with any implication that she might have mumbled something on accident. After all, Alethea never misspoke. But she did sometimes regret even her carefully chosen words, and this moment teetered on the edge of embarrassment. So she laughed, to diffuse the tension, and contrived a self-deprecating smile.
“What am I even saying? He’s with Elina, I shouldn’t care what he thinks.”
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