Page 70 of Filthy Rich

In places like this, maybe it is.

I swallow, and I move slowly toward the mirrors, but to see how I look, I’m forced to climb up onto the raised dais. It’s all such a big production, like I always imagined trying on a wedding gown would be. Though in my wildest dreams, I never considered I’d wear an off -the-shoulder dress for my wedding. Even if this thing wasn’t seventeen grand, the bare shoulder would be enough for me to rule it out.

I spin around and face the mirrors, and it’s. . .

The gown was gorgeous in the window, but it looks much, much better than I ever thought it could. I shift naturally so that my left side’s hidden, and I smile just a little. “It’s really stunning.”

“Turn straight,” Bea says. “You look amazing, like the masterpiece I always knew you were.”

“Maybe a Picasso,” I say.

Bea shakes her head. “Stop and look in that mirror.”

I do as she asked, and when I really look. . .I don’t look bad. I mean, one side of my face still looks melted. My shoulder, too. I hate it. But it’s. . . In this, I almost don’t care. The asymmetry of the dress makes the asymmetry of my face less displeasing.

Not that it matters.

Our costume budget’s a grand—for the two of us. I’m not about to pay what I’d pay for a car to buy a dress I’d never have anywhere to wear and couldn’t even fit in my closet.

Bells jingle up front, indicating that someone opened the door.

The woman clears her throat. “I’ll be right back. Take your time.” She ducks down the hall, presumably to talk to the customer who’s currently staring at the mess we left of the front window display.

“We have to buy it,” Bea says.

“We?” I snort. “Absolutely not.” She’s standing at the very back of the shop, so I turn to look at her while we talk. “I humored you. I put this on, and we took way too much time away from this poor woman, and now I’m going to change and we’re going to go pick out something completely fine, like a pair of dark jeans and a chunky sweater from Anthropologie. Heck, I’ll even let you pick something weird, like an asymmetrical sweater.” I nod slowly. “Yes, that will be fine.”

A soft exhalation behind me has me spinning around in panic.

Jake’s jaw’s almost draped on his chest. “That’s—it’s—you’re.” He swallows, finally closing his mouth. “You have to get that. It’s the cover.”

The shopkeeper’s literally standing right behind him. I shove the words past the rictus of my fake smile. “Bea, did you call Jake?”

She grunts. “I knew I needed reinforcements.”

“I’m glad you like it,” formerly Grumpy Bear, now Sunshine Bear, says.

Jake snaps a photo.

“Hey,” I say. “Bea promised me no photos.”

He shrugs. “I wasn’t a party to that short-sighted promise.”

I’m going to have to steal his phone and purge any photos later. “Do not send that to anyone, or I will straight up murder you.”

“You can’t do it now,” Jake says. “Even if Bea won’t testify against you, Cordelia just heard that threat.” He tosses his head. “She’d make sure justice was done.”

I roll my eyes. “Alright, well, the show’s over. I’m going to change.”

“Wait.” Jake throws up a hand.

“What?” I pause.

He smiles.

“What?” I ask.

“I just wanted to see you in that for one more minute.”