She stood there in a baby-blue sweater and off-white joggers with white sneakers.Her honey locs were scooped up in a messy bun with a few short strands framing her face.
“Please tell me you’re not stalking me,” she added, smirking.
“I could say the same,” I replied, then gestured vaguely around us.“What are you doing here?”
“Some much needed retail therapy,” she said easily.“You?”
I hesitated, then sighed.“Shopping for a dress.For the wedding.”
Her smile turned slow.Dangerous.
“Oh,” she said.“Then thank God I ran into you.”
Before I could question that, she linked her arm through mine.“Because this,” she continued, already steering us toward the nearest boutique, “is not just dress shopping.”
“It’s not?”
“Nope.”She shot me a wicked grin.“Cue operation Revenge Dress.”
I snorted despite myself.“You’re ridiculous.”
“A certain princess had the right idea.I'm just following suit,” she countered.“I told you I was all in for this revenge, girl.We'll find the right dress even if it takes all night.”
Uh-oh.
“Nerissa, I'm not spending all night looking for a dress.”
She waved me off.“We won't, just trust me.I've got this under control.”
What followed was a blur of fabric, mirrors, and Nerissa’s relentless commentary.
Too boring.
Too safe.
Too funeral (what did that even mean?).
She shoved hangers into my arms like weapons, her enthusiasm infectious in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.Somewhere between the third fitting room and the fifth “absolutely not,” I started laughing again—real laughter, the kind that loosened something tight in my chest.
I didn't have many female friends—well, friends in general outside of the library—so Nerissa being there was like a breath of fresh air.
And I could see why Jaxon called her alittle menace.She may have been short, but she didn’t blend into a crowd like I did.She was a stand-out-and-shine type of girl.I don’t know; somehow we complemented each other, and I was all for it.
“Nerissa, we've looked at every dress here.”
She still flicked through the rack.“Not every dress.This is a…”
Then she froze, her eyes locking on the next dress in the shuffle.
“Oh,” she breathed.“Oh, Savannah.”
I followed her gaze.
The dress was… dangerous.Soft white with a blush-pink undertone.Delicate, almost innocent at first glance—but the high slit on the side told a different story.It was ruched down the front and had spaghetti straps with a sweetheart neckline that promised and delivered.The hem hit just below the knee, walking the perfect line between elegant and sinful.
My stomach flipped.
“No,” I said immediately.
