Page 174 of Wild Card 13

“Right.” His voice was warm. “Near Boston.”

Naomi clapped her hands once. “Wonderful. Emotional milestone complete. Now we have fifteen minutes to get you into that dress before Ty Burns arrives and your father starts photographing everyone from fourteen angles.”

Dad frowned. “I am notthatbad.”

“You bought a tripod,” Arlo pointed out with a giggle.

Dad’s posture stiffened with dignity. “Prom is important.”

My chest squeezed so hard I had to look down at the letter again.

Prom was important. Aldenmere was important. Ty was important.

Everything was important all at once, and I had no idea how to hold all of it without dropping something.

Naomi took the letter from me carefully and set it on my desk, smoothing the crumpled edge with her palm. “Dress,” she demanded.

The next fifteen minutes dissolved into fabric, laughter, and crisis.

My dress tried to murder me twice. Naomi insisted the zipper had “personal issues.” Arlo shouted through the closed door that if anyone needed help, he was emotionally unavailable but mechanically useful. I told him to go away. Dad asked from the hallway whether we needed anything. Naomi told him we needed a government-level investigation into formalwear sizing. Dad went quiet long enough that I suspected he had taken her seriously.

Finally, the zipper slid into place. The dress settled around me. Naomi stepped back. Her expression changed.

“What?” I asked, immediately reaching toward my hair.

“No.” Her voice went soft. “Don’t touch anything.”

I turned toward the mirror. For a second, I did not recognize myself. The green made my hair look darker, warmer where the curls had been pinned half up and left loose around my shoulders. The bodice fit closely, delicate embroidery sweeping across my chest before the chiffon skirt fell in soft layers around my legs. I looked taller somehow. Softer. Like the version of myself I usually only imagined in the pages of old books and quiet daydreams.

Not Ezra Thomas’s daughter.

Not the girl whose mother left.

Not the girl waiting for someone to decide whether she was worth staying for.

Just Lucy.

Naomi came to stand beside me in the mirror, pink and floral and glowing. “We look disgusting.”

I laughed, wiping carefully beneath one eye before I could ruin anything. “Tragic.”

“People will suffer.”

“Mostly from your shoes.”

“My shoes are adorable.”

“They are bright pink.”

The doorbell rang again. Every nerve in my body went bright.

Naomi’s grin spread slowly. “I am thinking that your boyfriend is about to experience a medical event.”

“He is not.”

From downstairs, Arlo called, “Burns is here.” There was a pause. Then Arlo added, “Unfortunately.”

Ty’s voice floated up the stairs. “Missed you too, Thomas.”