Never having worn anything like it, her cheeks warmed. “It’s… a lot.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Tasha said from behind her. “Dad’s going to pass out.”
“Pay her no mind, dear. It’s perfect,” Margie said firmly.
Erica shifted uneasily. Compliments about her appearance always landed strangely, as though meant for someone else. In a place like this, wearing a dress that in her wildest dreams she never imagined owning, she felt the old urge to shrink and not take up space.
Tasha reached out to adjust the sleeve. Her fingers skimmed her arm. Instead of a vision, she felt a rush of intense loyalty, deep love of family, and a thread of skepticism—something she hid well. She didn’t need to see Caleb to know exactly who that skepticism was for.
“Is something wrong?” Tasha asked.
“No. I’m fine.”
That was true for the moment, until she saw the price tag. Two thousand dollars.
Erica shook her head. “Oh no. Absolutely not.”
Her fingers found the hidden zipper.
Margie noticed. “What is it?”
“I can’t accept this,” Erica said, lowering her voice. “It’s too much.”
Margie’s gaze softened. “It’s not just a dress,” she said, echoing Vince’s words from earlier. “It’s a statement.”
Tasha chimed in. “Think of it as armor.”
Erica frowned. “Why would I need armor?”
“Remember the mean girls in high school? You thought they were judgy.”
Erica blanched.They actually enjoy this?
Her fingers returned to the zipper.
“She’s exaggerating,” Margie said quickly, shooting Tasha a quelling look. “Tonight isn’t only about the charity. It’s about presence. Influence. Vince understands that.” Her voice softened now, too. “He wouldn’t take you tonight if he didn’t think you would shine. And he wouldn’t have given you his card if he didn’t want you to use it.”
Still uncertain, Erica’s hand drifted over the fabric as she looked at her reflection.
“You really do look beautiful,” Margie added quietly.
“You do,” Tasha agreed. “Besides, Dad is loaded. Take advantage.”
“Natasha Elizabeth,” her grandmother said sharply. “We don’t talk about money like that.”
“Sorry,” she said dutifully then winked when Margie turned.
Erica let out a breath, unsure whether to laugh or hide. They were both so natural around her, so genuine, she didn’t feel out of place. She felt included.
Maybe even wanted.
Margie held out her hand, palm up.
After a brief hesitation, Erica slipped the card into it.
***
Erica leaned toward the mirror, brushing on a last sweep of mascara, when the cottage door opened behind her. She looked up, ready to greet him, but the words stuck in her throat. He stood in the doorway in a black tux, bow tie perfectly knotted, shoulders nearly filling the frame.
