"Isla, I said two hundred. If you love it, get it."
"I don't love it. I just... don't hate it?" She turns to look at herself in the three-way mirror. "I've never worn anything like this before."
I stand behind her, catching her eye in the reflection. "You don't have to wear it if it doesn't feel right. We can keep looking. Or we can skip the fancy restaurant and go somewhere you'd feel more comfortable."
"No. I want to do this." She smooths the fabric. "I want to be the kind of person who can wear a red dress to a fancy restaurant with you. I just don't know if I am that person."
"You're whatever person you want to be. That's the whole point."
She stares at her reflection for a long moment. "Okay. I'm getting it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I'm also getting these shoes—" she holds up a pair of simple black heels that are fifty percent off, "—and you're not allowed to comment on the total." She thinks I’m going to complain about the price, not sure what’s happening here.
"Deal."
We check out, and I insist on carrying the bag even though she protests. Back in the car, she's quiet.
"Thank you," she says as we drive back to campus so she can change. "For not making this weird. For letting me pick what I wanted."
"Why would I make it weird?"
"Because you're Sebastian Thornhill and you probably have opinions about what women should wear to fancy dinners."
"The only opinion I have is that you should wear whatever makes you feel confident. Which apparently is a red dress from a department store sale rack." I glance at her. "For the record? You could show up in sweatpants and I'd still think you were the most beautiful person in any room."
She's quiet for a beat. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because it makes it harder to remember why I hated you."
"Good. I want you to forget. I want you to only remember this version of me." I’m finally showing her me, and I think I’m winning.
"That's not how it works. You don't get to erase the past just because the present is better."
"I know. But I can try to make the present good enough that the past matters less."
We reach her dorm. She gets out with her shopping bag, then leans back in through the window.
"Pick me up at six-thirty. And Sebastian?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't be late. I'm putting effort into this. You better match it."
"I will. I promise."
She disappears into her building, and I drive back to Legacy House to get ready.
I spend the next three hours in a state of controlled panic. Shower. Shave. The good suit, the one my father had custom-made for important events. I hate that I'm pulling out theThornhill armor for this, but I want to show Isla I'm taking this seriously.
That she's worth the effort.
At 6:25, I'm outside her dorm. Five minutes early because I'm apparently incapable of being fashionably late when it comes to her.
At 6:32, she emerges.
