I blinked. “Dangerous how?”
She gestured at my reflection, up and down. “That’s a dress that stops a room when you walk in and makes bad decisions look like a damn good idea.”
I laughed despite myself. “Rachel?—”
“No,” she cut in, absolutely unrepentant. “Listen to me. That’s not scandal red. That’sconsequencered.” Her eyes flicked to mine in the mirror, sharp and pleased. “You walk into Homecoming in that and someone is going to have to sit down and reevaluate their entire personality.”
Heat climbed my cheeks. “You’re exaggerating.”
She grinned. “I am not. I’m being kind.” Then, softer but no less certain, she added, “But if you need to hear me say it, I love it. It’s you.”
“I don’t hate it,” I admitted.
Rachel smiled. “High praise.”
For the first time in days, I felt something unclench in my chest. Not because of the dress specifically, but because of what it represented—choice. Agency. The simple act of deciding something for myself without needing to justify it.
Of course, that was when my mother walked in to join us. Oh. Joy.
Maddy Curtis had a way of entering rooms that made everything immediately about her. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… decisively. Like the air adjusted to accommodate her presence.
She stopped short when she saw me in the mirror.
Her expression flickered—approval, calculation, concern—all in the space of a second.
“It’s a bit much,” she said finally.
Rachel stiffened beside me.
I turned slowly. “Hi, Mom.”
Her gaze shifted to Rachel, polite but cool. “Rachel.”
“Mrs. Curtis,” Rachel replied evenly.
Maddy turned back to me. “Given everything that’s happening, I’m not sure this is the message we want to send.”
The words hit exactly where she meant them to.
I felt my spine straighten.
“This isn’t about sending any message. I don’t work that way,” I said calmly. “This is just a dress.”
She sighed like I was exhausting her. “Frankie, people are watching you right now. You need to be careful.”
“I am being careful,” I said. “I’m also being me.”
Her lips pressed together. “You should also reconsider your job.”
There it was.
“No,” I said immediately.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m not quitting,” I repeated. “I need the income.”
“You don’t need?—”
