“What’s going on?” Mom asks from my doorway.
Em beams. “Lucy’s mysterious billionaire suitor just sent half of Paris to our apartment.”
Mom looks at me, really looks. Not at the boxes, at my face.
“At least sit down before you go in full panic mode,” she says gently.
I move to the edge of the bed.
“Who is he?” she asks.
I hesitate. “His name is Julian North.”
I mean, I assume it's him. Who else would be doing this?
“That’s not what I meant.”
I swallow. “I don’t know.”
She studies me, with tired eyes that still manage to be kind. “Maybe you don't need to right now.”
“It's too much,” I murmur.
Her expression shifts. Something like understanding flickers there.
“Maybe,” she says, “Or maybe he saw what is painfully evident, and for that I am sorry, my sweet girl."
My eyes snap to hers as I croak, "No mom..."
She gives me a loving smile, "You should let him bring you out, even if it's just for one night. Enjoy yourself. Emily and I will be fine here for an evening.”
Em nods eagerly. “Please. Let me live vicariously.”
I let out a shaky breath and nod, feeling a tear slip down my cheek.
Em pops up from where she was rummaging through the boxes, "Food first. And Coffee. Then we get Cinder Roberts ready for her ball."
I walk to my mom and pull her gently into a hug. I let myself get lost in her scent, in the comfort that is naturally her, and then I follow my sister into the kitchen for brunch and a million questions I have no way of answering.
A text comes through an hour later.
Julian:My driver will pick you up at 6:30. I hope you let yourself enjoy the gifts and wear them all tonight.
I swallow hard, and I hear Emily squealing over my shoulder. And then, in what I am assuming is her Julian voice, "Wear all the jewels I have besotted you, my Queen...."
Did that even make any sense?
I follow my sister into my room. My mom trailing quietly behind us. I help her get settled on my bed so she can watch me get ready.
When I finally open the boxes, it feels like unwrapping a different version of myself.
The dress is blue. It's not bright or pale. The fabric is a deep, rich midnight blue, with long sleeves. A high neckline in front that falls away into an open back, so dramatic it steals my breath. The skirt is slim through the hips, then tapers into an elegant flare behind me. Not a train. A whisper of one.
The shoes are nude, impossibly sleek, heels high enough to make me taller, sharper, someone who belongs in Julian North’s world.
The jewelry is understated but devastating, earrings that catch the light like stars, a bracelet designed to slide over the single sleeve, leaving the dress to do the work and my back absolutely bare.
Em turns my room into a war zone of makeup palettes and curling irons. She hums while she works, focused, careful. My mom sits on the edge of the bed, offering quiet commentary and the occasional smile.
