“Oh,” she said softly.
Her eyes traveled over the line of the dress, the way it fitted at my waist, the way it moved at my hips.
“Yep,” she decided. “That’s perfect on you.”
And for a second — just a second — something in her expression softened. Not envy. Not competition.
Pride.
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
I inhaled slowly and lifted my chin.
“Okay,” I said.
Rachel stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her gown, slipping seamlessly back into composure. “Good,” she replied. “Because we are about to make an entrance that will be discussed for years.”
I met her eyes in the mirror. “Let’s do this.”
That was when Archie’s house got… louder.
Not with yelling.
With the kind of excited, coordinated chaos that meantsomething was happening.
Jeremy knocked once and opened the door when Rachel and I both called out at the same time.
“Miss Frankie,” he said smoothly. “Mr. Archie and the gentlemen have requested your presence downstairs.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Requested?”
Jeremy’s mouth twitched. “Insisted.”
Rachel stood immediately. “Oh, this is going to be ridiculous.”
It was.
It was so much worse than ridiculous.
They’d made me a homecoming mum.
Not a normal one.
Not a sweet, small ribbon and a flower situation.
No.
This thing was astatement.
It was huge and gorgeous and absurd—layers of ribbon in deep red and white, sparkling accents that caught the light, and a flower arrangement that looked like it had been personally curated by someone with a degree in intimidation.
And the bells.
There were bells.
Of course there were bells.
I stared at it like it might bite me.
