I looked up from the brown velvet of a shapeless dress hanging on a rack. Marshal held a silver gown up to the light. I blinked. "I can't wear that."
He looked over at me. "Huh? Why not? It'll match your hair and eyes." He pushed it toward me. "Here. Try it."
I took it from him and examined the making of it. "How? There's no sleeves."
I noticed Marshal's lips twitch. "It's not supposed to have sleeves."
I arched an eyebrow and looked down at the dress again. I turned it this way and that. "How does it stay up?"
Marshal chuckled and then took the dress and a gentle grip on my arm as he led me toward a portion of the store that said 'Fitting Rooms'. The sales lady unlocked it and then he ushered me inside and closed the door behind him. He hung the dress up and carefully took it down from the hanger--it hung only by two very thin pieces of ribbon affixed within the bodice.
He unzipped it and then gathered the material of the skirt. "Arms up."
I regarded him with a continued arch of my eyebrow. "With my clothes on?"
Marshal chuckled again. "I wish, but just humor me. I'd rather not get a fist in the mouth."
So I lifted my arms over my head. He directed the dress down over me, freeing catches here and there when the skirt gathered on my shirt or pants. Then he drew the front of it down, turned me around, and zipped the dress up in the back. I blinked at the image in the mirror.
He put his cheek beside mine and smiled at my reflection in the mirror. "That is what keeps it up."
I flushed and slightly smiled as I looked away.
Marshal stepped to the door and opened it. "Miss, we'll take this one in a size six."