What if Cinderella didn't want prince charming?
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When Emily Odita was forced to visit her father and his new family in Lagos, she thought things couldn't get any worse until sh...
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I stepped out of the dressing room unsure of myself. The stylist said the dress would fit me perfectly but I wasn’t sure. Yes, stylist.
Chima and I had gone shopping for a dress but we couldn’t find one that was appropriate for the event so he called his mother’s stylist. Apparently, he’d styled all of his mother’s luxurious outfits for about two years now. If her birthday outfit was anything to convince me, it did a good job.
The dress I had on was a number the stylist had just finished working on. After explaining what kind of dress we were looking for, he nodded and directed us to a fitting room.
“What do you think?” I asked as I stepped out of the dressing room.
Chima looked up from his phone and took his time looking at me from head to toe. I felt self-conscious under his gaze so I used my hands to cover my cleavage which was slightly exposed.
He tsked and got up to stand in front of me.
“You’re beautiful.” He said and took my hand that was over my chest in his. “I love the dress.”
I released a big breath of relief, this was the first dress he was saying he liked. It put me at ease that we had the same fashion taste because every single dress I’d disapproved of, he was hundred percent in support of my choice.
“This dress was made for you.” The stylist said as he stepped into the dressing room. He led me to the full length mirror at the corner of the room.
I took my time analyzing the dress. It was a handless dress with a sweetheart neckline, the body of the dress was a corset, a mixture of the material of the dress and black chiffon. The skirt hugged my curves, stopping mid-thigh. The image of a lion evenly spread around the dress gave it the Igbo look I desired.
“I love it.” I said genuinely.
“I want to try something.” The stylist said, meeting my eyes through the mirror.
I nodded in approval and he once again left the room.
I looked at Chima through the mirror. “What are you wearing?”
“Senator Suit.” He answered.
I rolled my eyes, expecting that answer from him. “Typical. I’m sure every guy would be wearing a senator suit.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He childishly rolled his eyes too and I laughed.
The stylist returned to the room again, this time holding a long black chiffon material, which was the same as the one on the corset. As predicted, he clipped it to the waist line of the dress. The train flowed behind me adding a regal touch to the outfit.
“Did I see you in my dream when making this dress?” The stylist joked and I laughed.
