Page 87

We ride the elevator up. Mitchell's phone rings just as the doors open onto a floor marked Couture.

Of course. Not just dresses.

Couture.

Because apparently, regular expensive isn't expensive enough. He checks the screen.

“I need to take this.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'll be inside in a minute.”

“I'm a big girl, Knight. I can shop by myself.”

Something flickers across his face at my choice of words. I don't give him time to comment. I step off the elevator.

The space beyond is quiet. Soft lighting. Thick carpet. Very few dresses displayed because apparently the fewer things a store sells, the more they can charge for them.

I make it six steps before a woman behind a sleek counter notices me. She's tall. Thin. Immaculate.

The sort of thin where collarbones become an architectural feature. Her eyes move over me. Slowly.

Shoes.

Slacks.

Blouse.

Hips.

Breasts.

Back to my face.

I know that look. I've seen it before. Not often anymore. I'm thirty-five years old. I've spent years learning to love this body exactly as it is.

But knowing your worth doesn't make you immune to someone trying to diminish it.

I straighten my shoulders. Ignore her. Then I see the dress.

Oh, it's gorgeous.

Emerald green.

The color is deep, rich, and it fits the bill for tonight. The fabric looks almost weightless, draped elegantly over the mannequin with a flowing skirt and delicate detailing along the bodice.

Exactly the color Mitchell described.

I walk toward it.

Maybe something like that would work?

“Excuse me?”

I stop. Turn. The saleswoman is watching me.

“Yes?”