Still, she knew Angie dated a lot, and she knew Angie better than the other women, who were only casual acquaintances. If they teased her about her lack of dating history, she wasn’t sure she could handle it, whereas Angie was just being Angie. She might say something hurtful, but Marjorie knew she didn’t mean it.

So, Angie it was.

Marjorie had called her over to her room and then proceeded to go through her clothing, looking for something date-worthy. Since she’d pictured spending the next two weeks on the island playing shuffleboard and attending wedding functions, she’d gone for comfort more than style. Her closet was full of knit shorts, floral tank tops, and flimsy sundresses in bright patterns.

In short: nothing date-appropriate.

There was no point in stressing over it, though. They were on an island resort, so he’d expect her to look, well, island-y, right? She pulled a new dress out of her closet and held it against her frame. “What about this one?”

“That’s terrible,” Angie proclaimed. “I hate to say it, sugar, but it makes your shoulders look bony. You’re already all angles, girl. You want to look soft for him. Vulnerable.”

Marjorie swallowed hard, feeling vaguely ashamed of her shoulders. “What if I wear a shrug over it?”

“Then you’ll look like a flamingo in a sweater,” Angie proclaimed, putting the magazine down. “You’re tall like a model. Wear something like what models wear. They always look perfect. I don’t know why you can’t do the same.”

Marjorie returned to her closet, digging through the few hangers desperately. “But models are taught how to dress or someone picks out their clothes for them.”

“Well, that’s true,” Angie said. “We’ll make do with what we have.” She looked Marjorie up and down. “Even if what we have is quite a lot of girl.”

She resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders down to make her body seem smaller.

“I’d offer to loan you something of mine, but I don’t think anything could stretch that much,” she said, eying Marjorie’s hips critically. “Not enough fabric, you know.”

“I know. I’m sure we can find something sufficient in my closet, right? Let’s just work with what we have.”

“What kind of guy is he?”

A dreamy smile touched Marjorie’s mouth as she held a dress. “Handsome. Really handsome. And friendly.”

Angie waved a hand. “No, no. I mean, what’s he like? Is he the kind of boy you bring home to Mama after a day of church or is he the kind you make out with in the back of the club?”

“Oh.” Marjorie blinked, thinking. “I guess he’s the latter.”

“Then that’s not going to do, sugar,” Angie said, pulling the dress out of Marjorie’s hands. “Do you want to just have a nice friendly date with this guy or do you want him to look at you as a romantic prospect?”

Her cheeks heated. “Romantic prospect, of course.” Oh, gosh, if he didn’t look at her romantically, she’d just be crushed. So crushed. Her hopes were up so high.

“Then do you really think wearing something that looks like a Sunday school dress is going to get his attention?”

Chagrined, Marjorie looked down at the dress they’d decided on. It was subdued, a red-and-orange, patterned sundress with a long skirt, a scoop neck, and cap sleeves. “I guess not. What should I wear then?”

“Something with boobage, sweetie. You’ve got nice, tiny little boobies. Show them off.”

She did? Marjorie consulted her wardrobe again.

“What about this romper?” Angie nabbed a bright red swath of silky fabric. “It’s kind of cute. And it’ll show your legs off.”

“All right,” Marjorie said. “Let me find the tunic that goes under it and the leggings.”

“Wait, tunic? Leggings? What? Just wear this.” Angie pushed it at her. “Show some skin if you want to win your man.”

“He’s not my man,” Marjorie said, blushing.

“And he never will be with that kind of wardrobe,” Angie said in a practical voice. “Now, do you want to wear something that screams virgin, or do you want to wear something that screams confident woman?”

Well, when she put it that way, it was a no-brainer, wasn’t it? Marjorie grabbed the tunic top and went into the bathroom to change, and came out a moment later, chagrined and plucking at the silky material. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“Why? Come show me. What’s wrong?” Angie gestured at the full length mirror on the far wall. “Come stand here.”

Marjorie did, miserable. The light, silky fabric of the tunic was loose at the collar and clearly made to be worn with a tank underneath. The collar dipped deep between her breasts, exposing her plain white bra. To make matters worse, the tunic itself was designed to be flowing and worn with leggings, so edges of the “skirt” only went to tall Marjorie’s upper thighs. She tugged at the back, sure that her ass was hanging out. “It needs layers.”

Angie thwapped her on the arm. “It doesn’t need layers, you prude!”

“You can see my bra!”

“You’re right.” She waved her hand. “Take the bra off and let’s look at it.”

“What? No!”

“Fine, fine,” Angie said, throwing her hands up. “You can wear this nice muumuu and tell me all about how he didn’t want to date you again.”

Marjorie swallowed hard and stared at her reflection. Rob was cocky, worldly. It was clear he wasn’t her type. Heck, she was so sheltered that she wasn’t even sure she had a type . . . which was kind of depressing. Would it really be so bad to wear a short dress out on a date? No one would see her except the guy she was trying to impress. She looked back at the dress that Angie was holding up—it was rather dowdy. With a sigh, Marj reached into the neckline of the dress and began to slip out of her bra. She tossed it on the ground a moment later and then they both looked at her critically in the mirror again.

Without the bra, her cleavage seemed to go on for miles . . . right on down to her belly button. She made an unhappy moan, but Angie clapped her hands. “Perfect!”

“It is?”

“Yes. Now show me your flats.”

Picking shoes was a special kind of hell. Since Marjorie figured nothing could hide her towering stature, she didn’t care about the height of her heels, and she loved a pretty pair of shoes. They were her favorite weakness like Angie’s was costume jewelry, but they didn’t see eye to eye when it came to picking footwear to go with her dress.

She still had the nude Louboutins that the bridesmaids were no longer going to wear in the wedding and that Brontë had suggested the women keep anyhow. Marj adored them, but Angie had taken one look at the stiletto heel and made unhappy noises, so she’d reluctantly put them aside for tamer wear. “What about these?” Marjorie held up a pair of strappy sandals with a wooden heel. “They match.”

“Goodness gracious, no,” Angie said, horrified. “Is that four inches? Girl, you’re going to tower over him as it is. No need emphasizing the flaws.” She picked up the only pair of flats Marj had brought. “You need to wear these. Trust me. No one wants to date Goliath, especially not a sexy man.”

Great. Now she was Goliath. And full of flaws. She felt rather homely at the moment, despite all the help to make her attractive for her date. “Flats it is. Thank you, Angie.”

“Of course, sugar.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Marjorie’s cheek. “Now I promised my son that I’d spend some time at the pool and relax. Can you handle your makeup and hair without me?”

Marjorie eyed Angie’s thick eyeliner and big, bouffant hair. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out. You go have fun.”

Angie beamed at her and waved. “Good luck on your date. Give me all the deets when you return.”

“I will.”

Her friend beamed, then left the room.

Marjorie sighed at her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin met her gaze everywhere she looked. Her boobs jiggled when she moved, and if she bent over even slightly, her butt was going to hang out of the back of the tunic. Worried, she looked over at her other dress choices, but Angie was right—they were frumpy and old-looking. She needed to be sexy if she was going to impress someone like Rob. Still, it was hard to be sexy in plain black flats when she was used to wearing heels. The flats made her feel ungainly, and she began to pull her hair up into a sleek knot, then shook her head and let it down again. Nope. A knot would just add another inch of height. That would be bad. She combed her hair into a loose, curling ponytail that lay at the nape of her neck and put on her makeup.