I buzz Mandy in and help her carry the wheeled garment rack from the elevator into our apartment, along with the six black garment bags it’s carrying. Fashion lust makes my fingers prickle. I can’t wait to pull down the zippers and discover the designer treasures inside.

As we drag the rack into the living room, Chevron jumps off the couch and barks to welcome the newcomer.

Mandy’s reaction to our puppy isn’t exactly warm. “These gowns are extremely delicate.” She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure having a dog around as you try them on is a good idea.”

Chevron stops yapping and goes to sit quietly on the rug in the faraway corner of the living room. She’s the image of a well-behaved puppy.

Mandy raises her brows.

“Chevron understands English,” I explain.

“Well.” Mandy’s face illuminates in a big smile. “The dog can watch from over there. So”—she turns toward me—“want to have a look at what I brought?”

I attack the zippers and reveal six stunning gowns. Yet the one furthest to the right catches my eye at once. It’s a flowy dress in the exact pale jade shade of my eyes. The textile plays with tulle and lace in an illusion of transparencies and is covered in lace flower appliqués. The V of the neck plunges deep, making the gown slightly scandalous. And the long skirt flows to the floor, ethereal and lovely.

Registering my expression, Mandy says, “And who said love at first sight isn’t a thing? Want to try it on?”

I nod.

She carefully takes it off the hanger and hands it over.

The fabric is soft in my hands, like the consistency of a cloud. I walk into my room feeling as if I, too, were as light as air. At the speed of light, I peel off my clothes and then carefully pull the gown on, cautious not to pinch the delicate tulle anywhere. After some contortions, I manage to pull up the zipper on my own. I complete the look with a pair of heels and stare transfixed at the results in the mirror. A-mazing. A dream translated into fabric. But on my short frame, the neckline drops so deep it reaches almost below my ribcage. I swallow. It’s indecent.

As perfect as the dress is, it can’t be worn in public. At least not by me. I’m tempted to strip it off right away, but pulling down the zipper proves more complicated than pulling it up. And I don’t want to risk tearing the tulle anywhere. I’ve no idea what this gown costs, but I’m sure I can’t afford it.

Shyly, I step back into the living room.

Nikki gasps. “You look amazing.”

Mandy’s assessment is more professional. “Fits you like a glove. We only need to shorten the skirt by three or four inches.”