Free Only In Your Dreams by Cecily von Ziegesar Page B

noticed it the minute she arrived; she had to get cash for a taxi and was surprised at how many bright, pretty pastel-colored bills she got in exchange for her boring old U.S. dollars. The teller at the bank even gave her a handful of change—including an oversize penny that was worth two cents, not just one, a funny hexagon-shaped coin, and a bunch of thick, heavy coins that were worth a whole pound each. If the English used coins for the same thing Americans used bills for, clearly this was a place to find great bargains. Not that she needed to find bargains.
    Blair was standing outside of what at first looked like just another West London brick mansion: a tall, well-lit town house with big, clean windows and blooming flower boxes underneath them. A lifetime of shopping had given Blair a sixth sense; she just knew when something good was lurking nearby. Through the street-level windows she could see an ornate Chinese vase stuffed full of white camellias on a pretty gilded table. Blair couldn’t see any clothes but she was absolutely convinced something incredible was inside.
    After all, everyone has a special talent.
    She rang the doorbell and the door buzzed back, so she pushed it open and stepped into the marble foyer of the elegant house. The open, airy parlor floor was filled with simple displays: an incredible Kelly green crocodile bowling bag perched on top of a broken Corinthian column bathed in the soft glow of a spotlight, a show-stopping pair of red velvet ballerina flats atop a satin pillow. They were so plush Blair couldn’t resist stroking them. A tall Indian girl with long, thick hair smiled at her from behind the antique art nouveau desk. Blair felt a little self-conscious in her Rock & Republic jeans, her gold silk Eberjey camisole and her skimpy sandals, but she wasn’t about to walk out.
    “I’m Lyla,” the salesgirl chirped in a clipped English accent. “Do let me know if I can help you find anything.”
    Blair walked to the foot of the gracefully curving staircase. Sensing something in the distance, she ascended the marble steps grandly. The steps were exactly like the ones Eliza descends in My Fair Lady, in the scene where she has her society debut.
    See, life really does imitate art.
    The second floor was nearly empty, except for a floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror against the far wall. Sun flooded in and Blair paused, pretending it was her own private dressing room. In the middle of the space, suspended from a glass hanger, hung a long white dress. It was made of silk, cut along the bias, and seemed to breathe as if it had a life of its own. It was ... beautiful. Whoever wore that dress would be the star of a never-ending love story with herself. Blair reached out to touch the dress, transfixed. Could it be? It was.
    It was a wedding dress.
    It was her wedding dress.
    “Would you like to try it on?”
    Blair whirled around to see Lyla from downstairs. She hadn’t heard her coming.
    “Yes, definitely,” Blair half whispered. “I think I’m going to need it.”
    For what, exactly?
    The shop only accommodated one customer at a time, so there was no need for dressing rooms. Lyla explained this, reaching up to remove the glass hanger from its tack on the wall, while Blair all but leapt out of her clothes. She grabbed the gown and slid into it headfirst. The chiffon was as soft and light as fresh whipped cream, and she shivered as it fell down the length of her body.
    Avoiding the mirror until everything was perfect, Blair stood by the windows, looking down onto the lush private garden behind the store.
    “Here, let’s put this on as well.” Lyla held up a delicate gold lariat necklace and slipped it around Blair’s neck. “I think you’re ready to have a look now,” she murmured, turning Blair so that she faced the mirror.
    Blair crossed the room carefully, holding the dress up so she didn’t trip on the delicate hem. There was a small platform in front of the mirror and she stepped up