Army Jaeger, I think, has a kid, and Iron has too many priors. The military won’t take him.

“And you?” I press. “What will happen to you?”

“My plans won’t change,” she finally mumbles, finishing my hooks. “I’ll still get the hell out of this shithole.”

“And far away from me,” I say.

She stands up straight, still behind me, and meets my eyes in the mirror. “You think you’re a factor in any of my decisions? Dartmouth was always the plan. You don’t matter.”

Dartmouth?

New England? Has she ever been out of Florida?

I stare at her longer than I should, the wheels in my head racing, and I know she can tell I’m taken off guard.

I swallow the lump in my throat and drop my eyes, twisting the corset to make sure it’s sitting straight.

You don’t matter. That’s what she said. She’s just going to leave. She’s already got plans. Like she’s been waiting for the day to run and… How can…

I try to swallow again, but my mouth is dry.

Snapping out my hands, I unzip the dress bag and peel it away, a dress I don’t recognize coming into view.

Huh?

Distracted from her news, I flip the bag back down to check the name, see that it’s mine, and inspect the dress again.

This isn’t my dress. It’s even more hideous, if that’s possible.

But then…I notice the silk. The same shade of chiffon that made up my dress, and I study it some more, taking in the lace and flowers, all mine but repositioned.

A halter-top neckline of bushy white flowers has been added, and sequins stick to the bodice like pinstriping, ending at the waist and giving way to the feathers adorning the skirt in a spiral formation.

A laugh bubbles up in my chest, but I hold it in. It’s awful, and I absolutely adore it. She did this.

I contain my smile and look over my shoulder, seeing her watch me with a calm but amused expression. She’s waiting for me to react.

She did this on purpose. She risked getting fired—hell, risked the wrath of my mother and grandmother—to get me back for the Sharpie incident.

She wants a rise out of me, and she’s not going to get it. I couldn’t be more pleased.

“Put it on me,” I tell her, almost lightheaded from the high.

She stares at me, pausing only a moment, before rolling with it. The next thirty seconds could be her last in this store, and she doesn’t even seem to care. I’m more pleased I was significant enough for her to trouble herself. She must’ve spent all night on it.

I pull on the petticoat, and she takes the dress off the hanger, spreads the bodice open, and lowers it to my knees.

I step in, letting her pull it up my body and button the back while I drape the flowers around my neck and attach it to the dress.

But before I can fan out the dress and take a good look at myself, seeing what my mother will see and fantasizing about her reaction, I hear a screech behind us.

“What is this?”

We both stop and turn, Lavinia stands with her hand holding the curtain open.

“What is this?!” she shrieks again and then her eyes shoot to Liv. “Did you…? Olivia…?”

Laughter shakes my stomach, and I turn away to hide my smile. Priceless.

But a thought hits me at the same time. If she gets fired, I won’t have access to her here. If she’s willing to throw away a job to piss me off, then I’m not really winning anything.

Lavinia’s eyes shoot up and down my body, taking in all her hard work fucked up, and then fixes a glare on Liv. “May I speak to you please?”

And I know it’s over for her.

Liv starts to leave the dressing room, but I brush past her and step out into the main room, up onto the riser. “I love it,” I announce. “Ring it up.”

“I will not,” Lavinia fires back. “This…this…” She scans me up and down again, like she’s about to vomit. Then she shoots another glare to Liv, pointing to the back room where she can go fire her in private. “Now!”

“Ring it up,” I growl. “It’s exactly what I wanted.” I look to Liv, rubbing it in her face. “The credit card is in my back pocket. Grab it.” And then to Lavinia again. “Olivia followed my orders. Don’t blame her. I want it paid in full.”

Lavinia’s mouth falls open like she’s going to argue, but I cut her off.

“I mean it,” I say again.

And then I turn away, cutting off any further argument as I check myself out in the floor-length mirrors, observing all angles.

Liv digs my mom’s credit card out of the back pocket of my jeans in the dressing room and shoots me a half-lidded look before disappearing into the lobby. I hear Lavinia’s hushed hissing and stand there, trying to hear what she’s saying to Jaeger, but I can’t.

The bitch needs to shut up. I told her it was fine. I mean, it’s not. Liv’s going to pay for this, and I don’t need help punishing her. She’s my responsibility.

The hem of the dress is too short, the petticoat sticks out the bottom, and the flowers around my neck itch. I hike up the skirt and reach behind me, unzipping the petticoat and letting it fall to the floor, stepping out of it. There’s no way my mother will make me wear this, and I’m half-tempted to start cutting it into pieces so it can’t be salvaged for my future daughter. I could even blame Liv for it. No one would think otherwise.

But…I won’t go that far yet. She’s finally playing, and I don’t want to actually get her in trouble before I can enjoy this.

“If this is the dress,” someone says, and Callum appears behind me, swinging me back into his arms, and I gasp. “I will absolutely be peeling it off you as soon as possible.”

I look up at him, feeling Olivia right outside the room.

He dips down, his breath on my lips as he hovers, not kissing me.

“Callum—”

“Shhh…” he tells me. “I snuck in.”

“I thought you had a meeting of the Skull and Bones.”

He grins, brushing off my teasing.

He’s trying to get a head start in some fraternity before he goes to college next year. Schmoozing alumni and legacies. Milking connections that his father already made for him. I like that he’s ambitious, even if whatever we have going won’t last beyond graduation. He’ll go to one school in the fall. I’ll go to another.

And we both know neither one of us is waiting for the other while we’re away.

“You can’t see the dress.” I stand back up and spin out of his arms.

But he pulls me back in, and I suck in a breath. He presses his body to mine, gazing into my eyes without blinking. “Undress for me,” he whispers.

I still.

“Let me watch the dress come off and your clothes put back on,” he murmurs, his nose brushing mine. “I won’t touch you.”

Part of me wants to. I like how slowly he moves, easing me into it.

He walks us backward into the dressing room and closes the curtain. “Every time I see you, I want third base already, Clay. Show me.”

He moves over my lips, holding back just enough to make my skin tingle where his warmth breath falls.

I want him. I look up into his eyes, picturing myself tearing his shirt off his body and what his skin will feel like against mine, but the tingles fade, and I inch up on my tiptoes, searching for his mouth. Chasing it. Fighting to get it back.