Page 4 of My Surprising Valentine

“I don’t know,” I hedged.

She leaned forward, her expression turning serious. “Listen, I know you’ve had feelings for him for a long time, and I get that it’s easier just to push them aside and assume nothing will happen. But maybe it’s time to stop doing that. Maybe this is your chance to see if there’s something more there.”

I stared at Percy, my thoughts conflicted. I wanted to believe she was right, that Max’s offer was more than just an act of kindness. But the fear of getting my hopes up, of being hurt, kept me from fully letting go. I’d spent years convincing myself that Max would never see me as anything other than his best friend’s little sister.

Changing that narrative at this point felt dangerous.

The train slowed as we approached another station, and Percy glanced out the window, then back at me. “All I’m saying is, keep an open mind. This whole fake dating thing could be your chance to test the waters. See if there’s something real there.”

I didn’t respond immediately, my mind whirring with possibilities, and as the train pulled into Boston’s North Stationa few minutes later, Percy gave me a nudge. “Let’s go get you a dress that’s going to knock Max’s socks off.”

I shifted uncomfortablyas I followed Percy into the high-end boutique, the click of my best friend’s heels on the polished floors echoing loudly. The store was as intimidating as it was beautiful, with high ceilings, soft golden lights, and racks of gowns that shimmered like something out of a movie set. The whole place smelled faintly of roses and expensive perfume as the sounds of classical music played softly in the background, the aesthetic a far cry from the familiar shops and big box stores I frequented on the North Shore.

I tugged at the sleeves of my sweater, feeling distinctly out of place. It wasn’t just the luxury of the boutique that made me feel self-conscious—it was the nagging worry in the back of my mind. Places like this didn’t usually cater to women who looked like me. Most of the stores Percy frequently dragged me into had racks lined with size two dresses, maybe a six, and I was skeptical this place would be any different. I was already bracing myself for the awkward moment when the sales associate would tell me they didn’t carry anything that would fit.

“You sure we’re in the right place?” I whispered to Percy, who was practically buzzing with excitement.

“Absolutely,” she said as she gazed at the racks of dresses like a kid in a candy store. “If you’re going to show up at Melody’s wedding on Max Bennett’s arm, you need to look like a goddess, and this is the place to make that happen.”

I sighed, trying to muster up the same level of enthusiasm as my best friend. The gowns were stunning—flowing fabrics in every shade imaginable, with intricate beading, sequins, andembroidery that shimmered in the soft light—but I doubted anything here would make me feel like a goddess. Maybe a sausage or that fertility goddess, Venus of Willendorf. The short round one you saw frequently in yoga studios and the like.

“I don’t know about this,” I muttered, crossing my arms as I eyed the gowns. “Half of these look like they cost more than my car payment.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Percy teased. “And even if they do, you deserve to splurge a little. Why else would you work so much overtime if not to enjoy the fruits of your labor?” Percy giggled. “Haha. You see what I did there?”

I couldn’t help but grin at her pun. “It’s called saving for retirement, Perce. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She physically waved the suggestion away. “Nope. I’m going to marry a rich old man who’ll leave me all his money.”

“You say that, but what I really hear is you’re going to need to move in with me when you’re fifty and have run out of money.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Percy clucked, brightening when she spied a cocktail dress that looked like it was made up of millions of colorful fish scales.

I grimaced as my gaze swept over the dresses lined up alongside it. “I just don’t think I’m fancy enough for this place,” I muttered, tugging at the hem of my sweater again. “Can’t we just go to the mall?”

Percy gasped dramatically, clutching her chest as if she’d been mortally wounded. “Hannah Carlisle, I did not brave the train just to take you to a mall. We’re finding you the perfect gown, and we’re finding it here.”

Before I could protest any further, a tall, willowy sales associate glided toward us. Her sleek black dress hugged her lithe frame like it had been custom-made for her. Her hair was pulled into a low, tight bun, and her lips were painted a bold,dramatic red. Her gaze flicked slowly over me and Percy with cool detachment.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone polite but distant.

“We’re looking for a gown,” Percy said, stepping forward with confidence. “Something for a black-tie wedding. Valentine’s Day. Very romantic.”

The associate’s eyes drifted over me, her lips curving into a slight smirk. “For your friend or you?” she asked, her tone laced with subtle judgment as she took in my casual attire.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I wasn’t dressed for this kind of place, but I also knew the real reason I felt self-conscious. My size had always been a sore spot for me, especially in stores like this. They would inevitably guide me to a dark back corner where the “plus-size” clothes were kept—assuming they even had any to begin with.

“My friend,” Percy said, gesturing toward me, her tone firm. “She needs a gown that will knock her date’s socks off. He’s a man who … well, let’s just say she needs to make a statement.”

The sales associate’s demeanor subtly shifted from dubious to intrigued. “What kind of statement are we going for?”

Percy flashed a mischievous grin. “We need something that’ll make someone’s jaw drop. Hannah’s not the bride, but all eyes will definitely be on her when she walks in on Max’s arm. She needs a dress that says, ‘I’m the one who’s caught this handsome man’s attention.’”

The associate’s eyes swept over me again, appraising me in a way that made me feel like I was being measured—both literally and figuratively. Finally, she gave a tight nod and motioned for us to follow her. “This way,” she said.

The three of us weaved our way through the boutique until we reached a secluded area in the back where two racks of plus-size gowns were kept. My heart sank as my worst fears were confirmed. This part of the store was darker and quieter, and thegowns were less visible than their counterparts at the front. It felt like a confirmation of what I’d always feared … that I—and those who looked like me—was something to be hidden away, not fit for the finer things in life.

“I’m Marjorie, by the way,” the woman informed us as she pulled a deep purple satin gown with a plunging neckline off one rack and hung it on an empty bar behind the dressing room curtain. “Let’s start with that one,” she said before grabbing a second dress, this one an onyx silk bias-cut gown. “And these, too,” she added, hanging a gold sequined number and a shimmering silver dress with an open back alongside the first two options.

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