She had known what she was going to wear since the dress had arrived.
Not the formal — she had not been thinking about the formal specifically when she'd ordered it, or so she had told herself at the time with the specific, self-aware honesty of a person who knew the difference between what they admitted and what was true. She had seen it on a site Claire had sent in a group chat three weeks ago, the image of it small on her phone screen, and she had looked at it for approximately four seconds before closing the tab. She had opened it again twenty minutes later. She had ordered it that evening.
Strapless. Black silk, the structured bodice of it laced through with deep red, the color of something decided rather than decorative. Mid-thigh, with a slit on the left side that suggested moveme
