Forty one

"I thought you were joking," Conrad frowns, staring down at the heap of white on the bed in front of her.

"I wish I was joking. Put it on; she won't eat her dinner if you don't," Carlos warns her, tying his tie.

He's wearing an all-black suit, a black shirt, and a white tie, which stands out a lot.

As it should, I spent an hour trying to bleach the stains out of that thing, Conrad grumbles to Jane, who agrees.

"It's like a wedding dress," Conrad groans, and Carlos raises an eyebrow.

"This is the best I could do. She wanted you to look like a baby ballroom dancer; this is a big improvement," Carlos comments.

Conrad snatches up the dress, sliding it over her head.

She sighs with relief when she can't see her strapless bra above the neckline because she didn't fancy trying to survive the night with a hyperactive child without one.

Conrad walks over to the mirror, adjusting the dress as she walks.

It's almost floor-length, and the pointed fronts of her heels are the only things that peek