"A-line straps?" enquires the girl behind the counter, tapping her long manicured nails on the glass top!

"No," I scream, scathed, "It's a formal ball and I need something decent!"

"Excuse me. A-line ones are pretty decent." a girl to my side comments, clutching a V- neck prom dress in deep, midnight blue.

"Okay! Let's get this straight!" the sales girl sounds annoyed. The perfect triple layer makeup shows a crack on the forehead with her frown and I long to just peel off the layers of extra paint which is supposed to make a girl beautiful. Shaking my head, I focus on the enormous task at hand — choosing a dress.

"V neck, turtle neck, or sweetheart neckline!" she asks, still rummaging through her catalogue.

"V neck" I choose.

"Side split?"

"No"

"Off shoulders!"

"No objection"

I go on saying as she ticks off the choices.

"Sequins?"

"Not too much!" I peer around at the rows and rows of dresses hoping for something to catch my eye so that I can get respite from this torture. I'm still remembering that day's lunch and the fun and how we laughed as we sipped sparkling red wine from crystal glasses, another luxury. I still wondering what that man sees in me.

"Colour?"

"Wine red!" I am caught off guard by my own choice. "I mean, it'd be nice if it's burgundy or anything in red!" The girl raises her eyebrows in suspicion. "Whoa! You do know your thing. How can you be so sure of the color?"

"No—I don't —I mean I have no problem with other colors but it just came to my mind!" I try to backtrack.

"No big deal. We'll trynna find wine red."

"So, what's your budget?"

My mind races back to the money in my account. It's down to a measly five hundred pounds after the month. "Well! Maybe a fifty pounds!" She raises her eyebrows, scanning me to see if I'm bankrupt or really out for window shopping.

"Follow me," she commands and I obey like a lamb.

"Finally after forty five minutes of tireless search, I finally find an organza corset ball gown with a V neck bodice and floor length majestic train. It shows off actually just the right amount of body without seeming too bold and never too shy.

Happy with my shopping skills, I stutter out of the shop and bump into the nearest person on the pavement.

"Owww!" he mutters, "What's you —" his mouth falls open and so does mine. "Pat! I should've known. Are you seasoned to bump people?" Jason exclaims.

"Jace, I'm really sorry," I bend down to gather my purse but he grabs it quicker and slips it into my vanity.

"Hey! I was just teasing you. How's it going? You didn't call me up for dance though!" he made a face.

"Look. I don't think that's a good idea. I've been doing overtime this week and I can't become an expert in a few days it takes time." I remark.

"You're avoiding me! Oh God! You are, Patriesse!" he waves his hands in the air.

"Aaagh!" I almost pullout my hairs. "It's not like that. Look. I have a life. I can't just risk everything for that one ball."

"Well, seems like you have no work today," he remarks, oblivious to the death glares I'm giving him. "So, wanna come round for some dance!"

"You aren't the one who backs down, do you?" I say, giving in.

"Nope. Always gotten whatever I wanted. Was a spoiled kid," a grin stretches from ear to ear.

"Spoiled brat!" I hiss, "So, where to now?"

"My apartment?" he looks into my eyes gauging my reaction. I know mine must be mirroring horror.

"Don't worry," he adds, "My Grandma is there, so—" There's an awkward pause which neither of us are able to fill.

"Well, that's settled then," I break the silence. It takes me every ounce of my resolve, but I know how to wriggle out of deadlocks. Another perks of reading body language books.

"You first!" he gestures.

"Nope. Lead the way!" I announce, as he offers me his arm. I grab his hand instead and it feels so familiar, so warm. The sole of his hands are rough and calloused and for a moment I doubt that he has faced much more in life than he admits. But that's none of my business. It's his life, his past and his future.

He doesn't seem to mind as he is dragging me steadily and soon we're striding fast down the road, trying to flag down a cab. One of the passing ones comes to a halt and he helps me in, jumping after me as the car speeds off to Hampshire.

I can't focus on the road as I can feel my heart beating fast. He's with me, in the back seat of a car. The perfect Adonis, the man who seems to come out of a sculpture and I'm going to meet his family.

I look up and see the mellow orange glow from the street lights reel across his face like screens from old movies, as we pass one light post after the other.

His posture is tense. But his eyes betray no emotions. I doubt if I affect him as much as he overwhelms me.

I turn to the window, not wanting to be caught gawking at him.

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