Their banter twists something in my chest. Watching Abbie so light-hearted—so married and safe—reminds me of when I was shaking so violently she had to hold me upright in Cora’sbathroom as we looked at the six white sticks lined up like soldiers on porcelain. All negative. And still I’d sobbed until I felt hollow, because for five whole minutes I thought I was going to bring a piece of him into the world. Alone.
Cora presses a silky blush top into my hands. “Try this. It’ll make Matt’s eyes bleed.”
I freeze, breath catching before I can stop it.
She doesn’t mean anything by it, just a throwaway joke from back when we all pretended my obsession was harmless. Back before it became a wound I can’t stop picking open. I force a smile, brittle around the edges. “We’re not doing the Matt topic today, remember? This weekend’s about us.”
“You brought him up first,” Abbie says, softer now. “Not with words. But the mood’s kind of written all over your face, babe.”
Shit.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I duck into the dressing room before they can read me any deeper. The curtain falls shut, but the flimsy fabric doesn’t feel like a shield. And suddenly, the blouse in my hands isn’t just silk. It’s Matt’s gaze and the way he used to strip me down without ever lifting a finger. My chest tightens, heat threading under my skin. I hate that it still lives in me, this imprint of him, that every brush of fabric feels like a memory pressed against my body.
Against my better judgment, I dig into my purse. The card is still there. Folded. Heavy. Waiting.
Wear them. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll know.
The words scold me every time I see them. The mirror throws back my reflection—a girl who looks like she’s thriving. Perfectly curled hair, cheekbones shimmering under the overhead lights, everything polished to a shine. A mask good enough to convince almost anyone.Almost.
Underneath it all, I’m a mess of memories that threaten to swallow me whole.
I shove the card back into my bag like it’s wired to explode.
I step out of the changing room in the top, and Abbie immediately perks up from her sprawl across the velvet chaise, as if I’ve just delivered a royal entrance. “Ooooh,” she purrs, eyes lighting up. “That’s fire.”
I twist slightly, showing them the low back. “Too much?”
Cora glances up from her indecisive pile of blouses, a smirk tugging at her lips. “On you? Too much doesn’t even exist in your wardrobe,” she teases.
Abbie tilts her head, eyes narrowing, the humour softening. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie too fast, my throat catches on it. “I just hate how much I want to look good for someone who doesn’t deserve to see me.”
The second it slips out, I wish I could snatch it back. The lightness of the afternoon fades, even Liam glances over, sharp and fleeting, like he knows the weight behind my words.
Cora sets her blouse aside. “This is about Matt, isn’t it?”
I shrug, eyes glued to the floor. “I said I didn’t want to talk about him.”
“You said that,” Abbie murmurs, “but your face disagreed.”
My pulse stutters, traitorous. “He sent me something this morning.”
“What kind of something?” Cora’s voice drops, careful now, cautious, like she’s bracing for impact.
“The kind that comes in a box, wrapped in a bow, buried in a thousand sheets of tissue paper.” The words stick in my throat.“A full La Perla set. Thigh-highs, suspender belt, thong, bra… and a note.”
For a long moment, the only sound is Duncan’s awkward cough.
Abbie blinks once, slow, like she’s struggling to reconcile the Matt she grew up with and the man who haunts me. “Jesus.”
“What did it say?”
I swallow hard, the heat rushing up my throat. “Wear them. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll know.”
Abbie exhales, a sound caught between a laugh and a warning. “That’s either the hottest thing I’ve ever heard or a crime.”
“Welcome to my life,” I mutter, though my chest twists around the words.
