Page 68

It was because of her. It had nothing to do with me.
Well, the fact he can’t do anything with her has a lot to do with me.
The guilt I felt when he first arrived and didn’t know what I’d done returns.
It doesn’t matter that he understands and is fully on board.
It’s still my fault he couldn’t take her up on her offer. He could be heading out tonight and enjoying himself. But because of me, he’ll be at Grams’, probably holding me while I sob on him. Again.
Spinning around, I stare at myself again in the mirror.
He isn’t wrong. The dress really is incredible.
Reaching behind me, it takes a little work to pull the zipper down, especially over the bump of fabric that caused Kieran some trouble, but I manage it and let it float to the floor around my ankles.
The price tag catches my eye as I bend down to get it, and I gasp. “Holy cow.”
Feeling a little disappointed that it’s not going to be mine after all, I try on the final two dresses, and without showing Kieran, I decide to go for the first one I saw when we walked in. Isn’t that always the way?
It’s beautiful, fits me well, and, most importantly, it covers everything it needs to cover. It’s both funeral-worthy and something I’m sure Grams would have appreciated—even if she would be longing for Kieran’s choice.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say in a rush as I pull the curtain back. “This is the one,” I say quickly, thrusting the dress at Kieran before unloading the others onto the judgy assistant.
“I thought you were going to show me,” Kieran sulks as if that moment between us didn’t happen. “And what about my one?”
“It’s not right,” I shoot over my shoulder as I walk away from the dress.
“But…”
I don’t hear what he says after that; I’m too busy trying to get away from him so I don’t have to look into his eyes.
That dress...the way he looked at me in it...that moment between us...it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
Kieran is the most important person in my life.
I can’t risk that.
If I were to lose him—especially now—it would kill me.
He catches up to me at the register just as the assistant who hit on him awkwardly folds my dress and places it into a carrier bag.
“You need shoes and a purse for that, darling,” he says before wrapping his arm around my waist to prove a point. Not that the woman risks looking up.
“N-no, it’s okay. I have something at home,” I argue, just wanting this little trip to be over.
“Nonsense. My girl deserves better than that.”
I glance up at him to find him staring down at me with an intensity similar to inside the dressing room.
I don’t respond. Instead, I take the bag when it’s offered, duck away from his arm, and make a beeline for the exit.
The dress I didn’t choose taunts me on the way out, and the memory of how I felt when he looked at me in it hits full force. But I lock it down.
It’s better left in the past where it belongs.
18
KIERAN