Across Boundaries (COMPLETED)

Chapter 40 | Of Holes And Rips.

Mira

I visibly cringed.

"I don't think I'm going to fit into this dress." I huffed, struggling to get my arm through the armhole. My face was burning from the effort I was putting in trying to fit into the beautiful olive green dress for the ball tonight but the dress had so many holes or in a more refined language, cutouts, that distinguishing between the armholes and the other holes was a whole lot of pain.

"That's because you've got your arm down the wrong-"

"Hole?" I supplied as I looked rebelliously at the stylist who stood by the vanity, leaning comfortably against the drawers as she fiddled around with what seemed like a truckload of makeup brushes.

"Seriously though," I grabbed and pulled until my arm was through the right armhole and let the dress fall to my feet. "Aren't you supposed to help me?"

"I am," The stylist shrugged delicately before turning around to open some kits and palettes. "Besides, you are the one who told me not to touch you."

I sighed in defeat. "That's because you waxed me dead."

"It was necessary." An expression of nonchalance appeared on her face and I bit down my inner wave of irritation. Although a bit too brash, Gianna McKenzie was a very talented celebrity stylist. Every top-notch celebrity out there wanted to hire her and yet Rebecca had somehow managed to scout her at such a short notice. Apparently, tonight's event demanded everything to be the top of the line. Nothing except the very best.

So even though I wasn't exactly a fan of hers, I was trying to be on my absolute best behaviour. Afterall, it was Rebecca's reputation and Dylan's on line. I could not risk that.

"How do I look?" I asked twirling around. The dress was making me feel like a spoilt princess. It was all satin and sequins that flowed beautifully around my legs and hugged my body like a very thin layer of cold water.

I looked adoringly at my twirling self in the mirror, a huge smile plastered on my face as I fiddled around with the lush fabric and then...

I gasped.

"It's torn!" I cried out, clutching at the fabric where it split open to reveal my freshly waxed leg. I stared in horror at the dress where it seemed to have ripped a few inches above my knee. "Oh my god," I clutched my forehead desperately. "I'm ruined."

"Just stop," A voice commanded and I looked up to see Gianna stalking towards me, a frown on her face. "Seriously, how exactly is your fashion sense so retarded?" She smacked me on the backbone and pulled my shoulders upwards. "Stand straight. You are an active young woman for god's sake."

Yeah, about as active as a hibernating polar bear.

"What about the dress?" I held up the fabric, my tone panicky. "It must have cost a fortune and I ripped it apart." I cried. "What are we going to do now? I can't dare to go downstairs in this."

Gianna gave me a withering look and turned to one of her assistants. "I wonder how Dylan deals with her. She might as well be suffering from OCD, the way she's acting. She has absolutely no class, and elegance...the size of a peapod. It's a real travesty." She tutted and rolled her eyes at my desperate expression. "I cannot imagine getting so panicky at the littlest of things. I mean, it's not even that much of a big deal. If a dress is ripped, we can simply get another." She waved me off dismissively.

"No, we cannot, Gianna." I said, my temper rising. She was being impossible and there was only so much bullshit that I could take from a person. "It's a dress that Rebecca got designed especially for me. It is a token of her affection for me." I said. "And that affection's not exactly replaceable, you know."