Free Meant for Her by Amy Gamet Page B

bit her lip. The dress was a deep blue silk that clung to her body in the most flattering of places, grazing her hips and cinching in tight under her accentuated breasts. The skirt billowed out around her legs with a feminine flourish, stopping just above her shapely ankles.
    While the neckline and hem were modest, the dress was racier that Julie would have liked for a wedding. She vaguely remembered Hank telling her to pack something appropriate, but she was crazy out of her mind after seeing the footprints leading from the barn. She had reached into the closet and grabbed several dresses, figuring one of them would be fine.
    She glanced wistfully at the other two outfits that hung in the closet. The first was a safe and boring pink sundress, which would have been perfect if it were June instead of December. The second was a blazer and skirt combination that was far better suited to a funeral or job interview—perhaps a job interview at a funeral parlor—than a celebration of love.
    Which left the dress she was wearing. Flaunting might be a better word.
    No one will be looking at me anyway, except Hank.
    At the thought, she relaxed her shoulders and tried to see herself as Hank would see her. Twirling slightly and smiling at her reflection, Julie’s fears were confirmed. This dress had no business at a wedding. Unless maybe it was worn by the bitter ex-girlfriend of the groom.
    There was a soft rap on the door. “May I come in?” asked Gwen.
    “Yep.”
    Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “You look incredible!”
    “I look like a French whore.”
    “You most certainly do not.” She grabbed Julie’s arms and held them out to her sides. “You look like a fine and cultured woman, who just happens to have a glorious body.”
    Julie felt the first stirrings of pride at Gwen’s assessment. She turned toward the mirror and twisted to see the back of the dress in the mirror. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
    “Well, it is breathtaking. But Kelly’s a fine-looking young woman and I don’t expect you’ll be stealing the bride’s thunder, so to speak.”
    “It wasn’t the bride I was worried about.”
    “Ah. Hank.” Gwen gave Julie a conspiratorial smirk. “It might be a bit too much for Hank.”
    “I’ll wear the pink one,” Julie said, reaching for the mundane sundress. “Maybe Kelly or Marianne has a sweater I can put over...”
    “I said it may be too much for Hank. I didn’t say you should change.”
    “I’m not comfortable.”
    “On second thought, you’re right. You should change. You wouldn’t want that tall, dark and incredibly sexy man to lust after you.”
    Julie slowly turned from the closet, one hand on the pink sundress. “You think he’d lust after me if I wore this?” she asked, looking down at the blue silk number and brushing an imagined piece of lint off its fine surface.
    “Definitely.”
    “Well,” she said, peeking at herself in the mirror, “he is my boyfriend.”
    “You want him to be happy, of course. I just love weddings,” she said wistfully. “Don’t you?”
    Julie nodded as she walked to the dresser and began brushing her hair. “I remember your wedding, Gwen. It was beautiful.”
    “It was.”
    If ever two people complimented each other, it was David and Gwen. They had made a striking couple—she with her curling blonde hair, smooth complexion and soulful blue eyes, he like a sandy-haired Greek god, all muscle and sinew.
    “Did I ever tell you how we met?” asked Gwen.
    Julie squinted her eyes.  “No, I don’t think so.”
    Gwen sat down on the bed. “I was living in New York City. The first time I saw him, he was sitting on an upside-down milk crate in Hell’s Kitchen, holding a cello and a bow. I figured he was a street musician.”
    She had a far-away look in her eyes as she continued.  “A red-headed girl was coming toward him from the opposite direction, and she asked him if he was going to play. ‘Not right now,’ he said, and she says,