“This might be the closest I get to seeing you married.” Mom dabs her eyes. “Vivienne doesn’t think that Graham is going to stay with you.”
“Oh dear, I couldn’t help but overhear…” That’s Mrs. Alcott coming out of a neighboring stall. “You’re not breaking up with Graham Richmond, are you, Danielle?”
“They’re fine.” Gran muscles in. “They’re in love. They had a pregnancy scare last week.”
Mrs. Alcott’s mouth drops open. “I see.”
“Thanks, Gran.” I sigh.
“You’re welcome.” Gran beams. “Now you need to try this on. Give me that blue dress. I don’t know who picked that out for you. It looks like trash on that mannequin. Give me that.”
“I think that would have looked nice maybe in a larger size.” My mom sniffs.
“Black. She needs a chic black dress. It’s stretchy,” Piper cajoles me, holding out a garment.
I check the price tag. “Put that back. That’s like ten thousand dollars. Why is it so expensive?”
“It’s got diamonds on a gold chain on the back of the dress.”
“I think you need something a little more conservative. You don’t want your back out.” Mom waves another option in my face.
“Hell no! She’s going to look like an old woman.” Gran slaps down my mom’s dress. “Mine has a plunge neckline. It’ll show off your boobs. All natural. All those tech-bro guys are into ‘natural this, natural that.’”
“Who’s your favorite cousin?” Piper begs.
“Fine, I’ll try it.” Though I think arguably Gran’s dress is probably better.
“This is a very nice print,” my mom complains as I shove them out.
The black dress that Piper picked out is so not my style. Colette or the Girl Squad could wear this dress and look stunning in it.
Me?
Maybe with better makeup and heels and my hair done and skipping breakfast—maybeI could feel okay in this dress.
But still. Ten thousand dollars? That’s too much for an article of clothing you’re going to wear once. Even if Graham is paying, I’m not wasting his money.
“Why is Graham paying?” I wonder as I brave the sales floor to find Piper and show her that I’m a team player.
I’m not his girlfriend. He doesn’t even like me. Why pay for my stuff? That’s… Well, that’s something a boyfriend would do.
Probably because it doesn’t mean anything to him. He’s a billionaire, right? It’s like tipping the barista a quarter or something.
My family is not waiting outside the dressing room like normal, conscientious people.
“They’re probably off trying to find more expensive dresses that make me look like a sausage,” I mutter as I peer through the racks of clothes.
I would give anything to look like the Girl Squad. Then maybe I could let myself fantasize about falling in love with—
Graham.
He’s here! In the department store! Help!
Do I dive into the nearby rack? Sprint back to the dressing room?
It’s too late.
He’s seen me.
