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Every time I emerge from the changing room, Brandon’s entire face lights up like I’ve just offered him his favorite treat.
“Turn around!” He makes a spinning motion with his finger. “No, slower. Wait. One more time. Marina, doesn’t she look amazing? She looks amazing, right?”
With each new outfit, I feel lighter, freer. It’s as if the clothes are peeling away layers of self-doubt and insecurity, revealing a version of myself I never even thought to imagine.
By the time we’re finished, I’m exhausted but elated. Marina has a mountain of clothes waiting to be packaged and delivered.
“Thank you,” I say to her. “This was… amazing.”
She beams with genuine care. “It was my pleasure.”
“Marina.” Brandon stands, stretching like a cat waking from a nap. “Put it all on my account, please.”
“What? No.” I reach for my purse. “I can pay for my own clothes.”
“No need. It’s on me,” he says. “Marina, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Milton.” Marina’s fingers dance across a tablet. “Would you like these delivered or?—”
“I said no.” My voice comes out sharper than intended. “Brandon, you can’t just?—”
“Consider it an investment in your comfort.”
“My comfort isn’t your job.”
“No?” His eyebrow arches. “Pretty sure that’s exactly what it is.”
Warmth rises along my neck. “That’s not what this is about.”
He steps forward, voice dropping so low only I can hear it. “It’s not you fighting something good because you think you don’t deserve it?”
The words hit too close to home. I glance at Marina, but she’s very interested in reorganizing the rack with my future clothes.
“I can pay myself,” I whisper.
“I know you can.” His fingers brush my arm. “But sometimes it’s okay to let someone take care of you.”
“Brandon.”
“Please?” His shoulders drop, making him look like a sad puppy, complete with wide eyes and a slight pout. “Let me havethis one, cupcake. I’ve been so good today. I didn’t even try to sneak into the changing room once.”
“That’s because Marina was watching you like a hawk.”
“Details.”
I steal a glance at the sage dress, at how it falls without constraining. At how it lets me breathe. I’m not used to this, being taken care of, being spoiled. It feels foreign, but not entirely unwelcome.
“I hate you.” I stab my finger at his chest. “But this is a one-time thing.”
His smile is pure satisfaction. “We’ll see about that.”
“I’ll have these delivered to your address in one hour, Mr. Milton.” Marina hands Brandon a sleek black card. “Thank you for choosing Élysée.”
“Thank you for your help.” Brandon’s hand finds its way back to my lower back as we exit. “Ready to go home?”
“Yes.” I can’t stop touching the fabric of my new dress as we leave, inhaling and exhaling deeper than necessary.
How long will it take until this feels normal?