Page 66 of Broken on the Mountain
"I'm fine."
"Hmm." The sound drips with doubt. "Well. The dress will help you feel good... on the inside at least." She clicks her fingers in the air. "Monique, if you would?"
Monique unzips the garment bag, and I have to admit… the gown is stunning.
Dark red silk, with a neckline that's elegant without being prudish. A long, flowing skirt that flutters like romantic poetry is written between the threads. It's the kind of dress that makes photographers salivate at events I'm all too used to. Events that make society pages swoon.
It's also the kind of dress that now feels like armor.
I step behind the privacy screen and shimmy out of the jeans and sweater I swapped from my scrubs after work. The Valentino slides over my skin easily.
When I emerge, Mom's assistant—a young woman whose name I've never learned despite seeing her at every event—steps forward with a tablet.
"Approved hair inspiration ideas," she murmurs, showing me a gallery of sleek updos.
Mom doesn't ask what I think. "Already decided. The third one. Book Eduardo for two weeks from now. The gala is on Saturday night, so he will need to be there early."
My head snaps toward her. "Saturday night?"
"Yes, dear. The gala is Saturday." Mom scrolls through her phone, completely unbothered.
"I can't do Saturday."
That gets her attention. Her eyes lift, sharp as cut glass. "Excuse me?"
"I have plans. I'm traveling that weekend."
"Traveling." She draws the word out slowly. "To themountainsagain, I assume?"
"Yes." Heat floods my cheeks.
"Piper." She sighs, the sound perfected over decades of disappointed motherhood. "This charity event has been on the calendar for months. This ismyevent.Myturn to show whatourfamily is capable of. Surely your little… rustic getaway can wait, huh?"
White-hot fury blazes through my chest, and she notices but doesn't care.
"Come now, dear. The caveman will manage to hunt for himself for one weekend."
The caveman.
Chase, who sends me care packages and leaves notes on mirrors. Chase, who planned an entire spa weekend because I had a bad week. Chase, who makes me feel more loved in two days than she has in twenty-nine years.
"His name is Chase," I bite out.
"Whatever his name is, he'll survive without you." She waves a dismissive hand. "Monique, can we?"
I step onto the raised platform in front of the three-way mirror, and suddenly there are multiple versions of me staring back.
The Whitman daughter. Polished. Perfect. Contained.
She looks beautiful.
Except…
She looks miserable.
"Stunning," Mom declares, circling me like a general inspecting troops. "Monique, the hem needs to come up half an inch. I want it just brushing the floor with heels—Piper, you'll wear the Louboutins, the nude ones with the crystal detail."
Monique kneels gracefully, pins appearing in her hand like magic.
