Page 32 of After the Fall

The saleswoman glared at Fiona. “We’re not releasing anything for spring just yet.” She wrinkled her nose at Fiona’s leather jacket and biker boots before returning to my reflection in the mirror. “Perhaps you and your friend should try Zara or H and M,” she smirked. “They might have some leftover summer dresses in their sales section.”

Her words stabbed like a dagger, exposing me for a fraud. Just because I was dating one of the richest men in Seattle, didn’t mean that I belonged in a place like this, trying on – I looked down at the price tag and gulped – an $8,000 Caroline Herrera gown. Although I’d found success with my cover story in August, underneath all the praise and accolade, I was still that same broke girl, struggling to make ends meet with a single mom. A mom who I hadn’t seen in a week. Guilt washed over me, making my insides turn the same shade as the gown.

“Ahem.” The saleswoman tapped her foot impatiently.

“You’re right. Sorry to have wasted your time,” I mumbled. “Come on, Fiona. Let’s go home. I can just borrow something from Savannah.”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “No.” She downed the rest of her champagne and slammed it down on the glass table. The sharp ting resonated through the dressing area as she marched over to where Chloe was standing. Even in her black combat boots, she towered over the high-heel clad saleswoman. With crossed arms and pursed lips, Fiona looked like a seriously pissed-offsupermodel. She was an intimidating presence, and a part of me felt sorry for Chloe.

“Maybe we didn’t make ourselves clear.” Fiona’s voice lacked any emotion. “We are here to find this lovely young woman,” she pointed to me, “a gown for the Carder gala, which she will be attending with her boyfriend, Wyatt Westwood.”

Chloe’s eyes grew wider than saucers. “W-Wyatt Westwood?” she stuttered, looking back and forth between me and Fiona.

“Yes. Wyatt Westwood. As in, the CEO of Grandview Gold Corporation. Or perhaps you know him from Seattle’s ‘Sexiest Under Forty’ list?”

“Y-yes. Of course I know who Wyatt Westwood is.” She hung her head. “Come to think of it, I think we may have a rack set aside for our VIPs. I’ll go check.” She scurried away, tail between her legs.

Fiona picked up the half empty bottle of Veuve Clicquot and topped up her glass. She nodded at my near empty flute. “More?”

I nodded. “That was harsh,” I admitted, as she filled my flute to the rim.

“But necessary,” she winked. “Lesson number one. Our kind doesn’t let humans talk down to us, and you shouldn’t either.”

When Chloe returned with a new rack of dresses, she was flanked by an older associate.

“Ladies,” the older woman gushed, her fiery red hair pinned back into a classic chignon. “I’m the manager here. Welcome. I hear we’re looking for something for the Carder gala?”

Her smile seemed genuine, and I felt my shoulders relax. “Maybe something a little less…” I turned back to the mirror. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was wrong, but the dress just didn’t feel like me.

“I think I understand. Chloe.” She snapped her fingers. “Bring me the rack.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” Chloe wheeled the rack next to the velvet sofa, refusing to make eye contact with anything but the floor.

The older woman quickly shuffled through the hangers, stopping when she came to a puffy cloud of burgundy. “I suspect this is the one.”

As she lifted the hanger, I gasped. It was the most beautiful gown I’d ever seen.

“The neckline is invisible,” she explained, pointing at the nude mesh. “It will be as if the hollyhocks, camellia and—”

“Gardenia,” I gushed, in awe of the delicate embroidery.

The saleswoman chuckled. “You know your flowers. Doesn’t it look like they’re growing right out of the gown?” I nodded. “It’s very romantic, and also unexpected for this time of year. A statement piece if I ever saw one. Oscar de la Renta certainly knows his stuff. Go on, try it on,” she urged, nudging me back into the changeroom.

Ten minutes later, and after a $12,000 charge to Wyatt’s credit card, Fiona and I left the shop. I felt a little bit like Julia Roberts inPretty Womanwith the giant shopping bag, which made Fiona my Richard Gere, I thought, stifling a giggle.

“Thank you,” I said once we were both seated back in the Range Rover. “You know, I’m actually kind of excited to wear this dress to the gala. Does that make me a bad person?”

Fiona raised her brow. “Why would that make you a bad person?”

I looked down at my hands, folded in my lap. “With everything going on, isn’t it wrong for me to be excited about something so trivial? I mean, the whole point of the gala is to take down the Carders and stop all the evil things they’re doing.”

“Harper.” Fiona rested her hand on top of mine. “Rule number two. You’re allowed to have fun and find joy in the small things, even when everything feels like it’s going to hell.Especiallythen.” She gave my hands a little squeeze beforepulling away. As she signaled to turn out of the parking lot, she asked, “Is there anywhere else you wanted me to take you?”

“Do you think we could stop into Sun Valley to check on my mom?”

“I don’t see why not. Wyatt just said we needed to stay out of the woods. But… isn’t Sun Valley still in quarantine?”

I shrugged. “The recorded message hasn’t changed in a week, but something doesn’t feel right. What if they just forgot to change their voicemail back to the old one?”

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