"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
"It's boiling in here."
She does this thing where she raises her eyebrow and tilts her head like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.Which she probably does.
She knows about Nate, I mean of course she does.The CIA couldn’t get anything past her.But instead of grilling me, she just squeezes my hand before the car behind us starts having a meltdown with their horn.
"I'm here if you need to talk, okay?"
The boutique isone of those places where you feel like you should whisper and definitely shouldn't touch anything.All white walls and lighting that makes you look like you're in some fancy magazine.There's Valentino and Saint Laurent everywhere—the kind of stuff that costs more than most people's cars.
We've barely walked in when Marcus appears from behind the evening gowns like he's been waiting for his moment.
"Ladies, your fairy godmother has arrived."
The whole energy shifts when he shows up—suddenly it's less stuffy shop and more like we're about to have the best afternoon ever.
"Marcus!What are you doing here?"I'm grinning as I hug him, breathing in his ridiculously expensive cologne.
"Did you think I'd miss the chance to dress my girls?"He pulls back, hands still on my shoulders, practically vibrating with excitement."Plus I was meant to be here ages ago but someone just got made head stylist at Maison Delacroix."His smile is massive."And I need to make sure you don't all turn up looking like a unicorn exploded.We want elegant, not tragic."
The next few hours are basically a movie montage.Marcus has this weird superpower where he just looks at you and knows exactly what will work.
For Camilla, he pulls this emerald Bottega Veneta thing that's as sharp as she is.
For Mia—who arrives twenty minutes late and out of breath because of course—something coral and flowy that just screams 'Mia.'
For me, he chooses this midnight blue Gabriela Hearst dress that moves like water.
"It's the color of depth," he says as I'm turning in the mirror."Gorgeous on the surface, but there's a whole lot of mystery going on underneath."
He winks and I can't help laughing.
I mean, he's not wrong.
Walking back to the car with our bags, I catch myself checking over my shoulder.Looking for someone who shouldn't be there but somehow feels like they might be.It's mental, the paranoia.
There was a period of time, where I used to get these missed calls but never answered them and never told anyone.I still don't know if it was Scott checking if I'd crack.It could've been anyone, really, but your brain doesn't care about logic when you're scared.
Fear makes you see threats everywhere.
Dr.Henshaw explained it once—trauma rewires your brain, making survival the only priority.
Happiness?
Optional.
Safety?
Optional.
Fear is meant to protect you, but sometimes it can’t tell the difference between real danger and a quiet Tuesday afternoon in a boutique district.
When you’ve been scared longer than you’ve been normal, fear stops being occasional.It becomes a shadow that follows you everywhere, even when logic whispers that you’re fine.
Even when everything should feel safe.
