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She eyed the navy sheath dress she’d worn to the Bespoke dinner hanging from Freddie’s bedroom door. Though pretty, it was meant to be the understudy, not the lead. The day before the December 18 workshop, she had purchased a shimmery black and silver dress from Topshop, but after the destruction of her laptop, spending hard-earned cash on clothing was unjustifiable. The dazzling party frock was swiftly returned for a full refund. At least her faithful navy number had won Mark’s approval once before.

Around half past four, Lucy bundled through Freddie’s door, carrying a garment bag and an old shopping tote from Marks and Spencer, a bottle of something tucked under her arm

“Hey, auld acquaintances? You didn’t forget me, did you?”

“Ask me that question tomorrow morning. Memory loss is a sign of a good time.” Freddie popped out of the bathroom, a damp sponge in his rubber-gloved hands. “Let me ditch this cleaning crap, and I’ll help you with that.”

“I’ll take the bottle. I’ve got the drinks trolley organized, and I don’t want it messed up.” Alex rolled a blue IKEA cart from behind the breakfast bar of Freddie’s kitchen. “We should get one of these things, Lucy. It’s so cute. We could fill it with baking supplies.”

“Right. I may have to rethink my New Year’s resolution to bake with you. Can you imagine the arguments? And honestly, I bet more of the icing will end up in your gob than on the cupcakes.” Lucy disappeared with her bags down the hall to Freddie’s bedroom. She returned a minute later with a de-gloved Freddie by her side.

“Alex. Come sit. Freddie and I have something to show you.”

The blonde stopped fiddling with the metal cart and bit her cheek. “That sounds ominous.”

She plunked herself down on the sofa, cuddling a squirmy Moriarty.

Lucy eyed the cat. “Freds, can you stick that soul sucker in the loo or something?”

Upon the feline’s banishment in Freddie’s bedroom, Lucy sat down.

Freddie set a box wrapped in green and silver paper on the coffee table. “We forgot one of your Christmas presents. It’s all Lucy’s fault.”

“It’s not my fault. Well, okay, it was…sorta…I left it at the office by mistake. Anyway, it’s here now. Open it. It’s from both of us.”

Alex went to gnaw a freshly painted fingernail, but thought better of it. She gazed at all the pretty. “It’s beautiful. I saw this wrapping at Paperchase.”

“I know. I was there, remember? Open it,” said Lucy.

She tore the paper easily, thanks to Lucy’s economical use of tape. A Topshop box greeted her. “What?” She flipped open the lid and gasped. The glittery dress—the same one she had returned—lay amidst red tissue paper.

“You guys!” Happy tears sprung to her eyes. “You didn’t!”

Freddie beamed. “We bloody well did! Isn’t it glorious?”

“You shouldn’t have to pay for Olivia’s bitchery with your New Year’s Eve dress,” said Lucy. “You haven’t bought anything special since May. This dress just screams cocktails and confetti.”

“When I heard you returned it, I ran out on my lunch hour and stuck it on my card. We tucked it away at Lucy’s office so you wouldn’t find it during one of your crazy housecleaning sprees.”

Alex held it up against her ratty Gryffindor tee. “But you guys can’t afford this. The other dress would’ve been fine for tonight.”

“Fine, sure, but not spectacular,” said Lucy. “What good are the holidays if you can’t share a little love and sparkle with your best friend?”

• • •

Alex steered clear of booze, determined to keep a clear head. She wanted to remember every detail tonight. The black dress skimmed her body like it was tailor-made, fine lines of delicate silver beading twirled like glittery tinsel to its mid-thigh hem. The thin straps and deep v-neck showed off a sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders as well as her small tattoo. Alex loved how the dress put the spotlight on her boobs—built-in cutlets magically boosted her chest to a B-cup. Eat your heart out, Caprice! For once, Alex felt like a woman, not a kid playing dress-up.

The flat vibrated with high-spirited pleasure-seekers and a never-ending soundtrack of Madonna, Michael Jackson, Kylie Minogue, and seventies disco. Lucy’s co-workers mixed easily with Freddie’s clubbing buddies while the BBC gang roared with laughter playing Cards Against Humanity with the London fandom posse. Even the chippy owner ventured up from the shop downstairs to partake in a toast to Freddie and his noisy bunch of merry-makers.

Freddie’s and Lucy’s co-workers and friends were chatty and funny, but there was one problem—no Mark. Alex had received a text from him around five saying he’d be there, but as of ten o’clock, the Irishman remained a no-show. His flight was due hours ago, and a pit stop at his East Acton flat shouldn’t have made him this late. His absence was further concerning because his flight wasn’t appearing on her tracking app. She tried calling him, but her attempts bounced straight to voicemail.

Lucy noticed Alex’s sneaky glances at her phone. Enough was enough.

“You’re not going to make him arrive any faster by checking your phone every five minutes.” Lucy snatched a mushroom pizza bite off a tray and popped it into her mouth. She straightened the slit of her merlot-hued halter-neck dress while she chewed.

Alex slumped against the kitchen counter, kicking off one of her heels. “I just figured he’d be here by now.”

“Stop leaning. You’ll get creased.” Lucy sipped her white wine, her eyes pouring over her friend’s dress. “It’s stunning, Lex. You’ve got boobs!”