And she’d replied, “Then capture it. Don’t let it go.”
That was all.
“See you boys soon,” she says now.
The call ends.
I slip on my watch, smooth my suit jacket, and take one last look in the mirror.
TWENTY-TWO
LUCAS
I unplug my hearing aids from the charger and put them in my ears as I nervously watch myself in the mirror attached to my wardrobe.
Tyler is stretched out on my bed like he owns the place. One leg crossed, head tilted back against the pillows, phone in hand. The most unbothered person in the world while I’m over here spiraling in front of a mirror.
“So,” he says, scrolling casually, “I added up the price tags from the outfits Alex got you, minus whatever this dinner look is, and the total’s almost twenty thousand.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, I rub my eyes.
I know that already; I calculated it yesterday.
I spin around and sign quickly,
“I really don’t want to think about that, Tyler.”
He smirks without looking up.
“Too late. I’ve thought about it for both of us.”
I sigh, tugging at the hem of my shirt again. I’m still not used to this kind of fabric — soft and expensive. The type of material that whispers not-cheap every time you move. It’s beautiful, and it scares the hell out of me.
It still feels surreal — Thursday evening, the sushi dinner, the warm ramen in my hands… and then getting home to find Ashley at my door, arms full of shopping bags.
“These,” she’d said in her always-professional tone, “are the pieces you said you liked.”
I’d stood there frozen, staring at her, then at the bags. I remember touching the fabrics as if they might vanish, and seeing them placed in another rack; I didn’t even know how to respond.
Alexander bought all of this, every single outfit, and I still don’t know how to breathe around that.
“You’re nervous for the dinner party, right?” Tyler asks suddenly, snapping me out of the memory. He gets off the bed, walks over to me, and fixes my jacket collar gently.
“I’m so nervous I’m about to throw up”I sign, my hands moving fast.
“Thought so.” He says with a chuckle.
He brushes invisible lint off my shoulder and tilts his head, looking at me with a thoughtful squint.
“You know… You look expensive.”
I shoot him a glare.
“I mean it in a good way,” he grins, hands up in surrender. “Don’t be surprised if people ask what private island you grew up on.”
“Stop,” I sign, but I’m smiling despite myself.
He moves to the side, letting me get back in front of the mirror. I run my fingers lightly through my hair, trying to fix the curls that always seem a little too wild and soft.
