Page 69 of Brazen Mistakes

“Thanks for teaching me. I didn’t expect to like this kind of dancing much, but it’s…”

She trails off, and I wonder if it felt as much like a beginning to her.

And as much of an ending.

Too much fucking angst. I give the room a nod. “We’ll head out shopping in fifteen, grab dinner while we’re out, and play some poker tonight if we still have the energy for it.”

I’m not fooling anyone.

Fuck this.

The stairs vanish under me as I take them three at a time, barely closing my door without slamming it behind me.

Why the fuck can’t I just have something real?

Why are the stakes always too high?

Why did I have to be born a goddamn fucking Westerhouse?

Too bad hard questions never have simple answers.

Chapter 26

Walker

I’ve always prided myself on my ability with color. It’s second only to my strength in visual balance.

But it turns out that my skills are perfectly useless when shopping. I have no idea how to dress Clara so she looks pretty, but not striking; rich, but not showy; youthful, but not childlike.

The pile of rich forest green, burgundy, and plum dresses that all make her skin and eyes glow, but somehow still aren’t right, has Clara so frustrated that she’s taken to pacing, her hands balled. She’s refusing to tap out her anxiety the way she usually would.

Trips’ appearance at this high-end boutique awarded us a private dressing room, emphasis on the room. Jansen’s lounging on a cream velvet couch-sized ottoman in the middle of the giant neutral-colored space, the glint of somethingsparkly popping in and out of his sleeve. “You look fantastic in all of them, beautiful,” he says, not wrong in the slightest.

But every attempt has Trips and our assigned personal shopper twisting their lips, so the four of us non-trust fund kids are obviously clueless.

Clara flops between Jansen and RJ, her face a study in exhaustion. Not just from this disaster, either. The alert on her phone she found after her dance lesson telling us Bryce had been near didn’t help. Being chewed out by Trips for leaving her phone in the kitchen made it worse.

I lean against the wall by the protective bastard. “What am I missing? Why aren’t these working?”

This is a “two hands through hair” problem, apparently, as Trips makes a mess of whatever uptight style he’d had. “Everything that she looks great in makes her look fierce. We need her to look benign, not like she’s there to become some guy’s possessive third wife. But when we put her in something softer, she looks like she just escaped senior prom.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Can’t say that my girl being too hot is something I would consider a problem.”

The saleswoman gives me a weird look, as Jansen’s kissing Clara all over her face and neck until she giggles, while RJ twines their hands together, focused on his phone, not the silliness beside him.

The saleswoman grabs a handful of dresses and gets the fuck out.

It’s probably better that way.

“What do we do?” I ask, trying to focus on the conversation with Trips despite Jansen scooping Clara up and sprinting around the ottoman with her. She twists and wiggles, tryingto break free, only for RJ to make three quick moves that end with Jansen on the floor groaning and Clara on her feet beside RJ, laughing.

Trips has the tiniest hint of a smile that vanishes after a moment, worry clouding his face. “I think we need to ask for help.”

“Mattie?”

“I thought about it. But fashion isn’t her thing. She can dress herself fine for any event, but threading this needle isn’t in her skill set. Plus, I don’t want her involved too deeply with whatever the fuck is going on with my father and his sudden interest in Clara.”

“Then who?”

---