Page 16 of The Marriage Clause

"Penelope, I—"

"We’re going to get you a killer dress too. All the girls are meeting up this weekend to go dress shopping. You’re coming."

"You’re insane."

"Nope, but he’s going to feel insane when he realizes that he lost the best damn assistant in Seattle," she says. "We’re going to network our asses off at this event. We’ll find you something. I promise."

Three dresses don’t work.

The first is pink—pale, bridesmaid pink that makes me look like a cupcake. The second is a blue mermaid situation that’s gorgeous but too much. Too obvious. It looks like I’m trying to seduce someone, which is actually probably not the worst message, but it doesn’t feel right. It feels like desperation in fabric form.

The third has so many beads that I can barely move. "You look like a disco ball," Cammy announces. "A very expensive disco ball, but still."

I’ve been in the dressing room for forty minutes. My anxiety has shifted into something numb. Maybe I’m not a dress person. Maybe I’m a jeans-and-cardigan person with paint splatters everywhere who has no business showing up at charity auctions with wealthy hockey players and billionaires.

"One more," Penelope calls from outside the curtain. "Don’t argue. Just wait."

There’s a moment of silence. Then she reappears with something dark draped over her arm.

It’s black. Sleek, sophisticated, devastatingly gorgeous.

"Try this," she says, passing it through the curtain.

I pull it on, and the world stops.

It’s a floor-length gown with a clean neckline and a back that dips deeper than anything I’ve ever worn. The fabric is Italian crepe—I can tell by the way it moves, liquid and forgiving. It fits like it was sewn directly onto my body. Every curve gets its moment.

Nothing is hidden, but nothing is desperate either.

I look like someone who doesn’t need anything from anyone. It’s a dress you wear if you want to be noticed.

I step out, and both Cammy and Penelope go absolutely quiet.

"Holy—" Cammy starts, then stops.

Penelope’s lips turn into a predatory smile. God help me.

"It’s perfect," Penelope says, her dress already selected and hanging by the front desk to be purchased.

I look at myself in the three-way mirror and don’t recognize the woman staring back. She’s not the exhausted assistant anymore. She’s not the terrified daughter wondering how she’ll afford her father’s care. She’s not the girl who came in early and stayed late and swallowed a grimace every time she was dismissed.

She’s someone else entirely. Someone with purpose. Someone worth noticing.

"Someone," Penelope says quietly, meeting my eyes in the mirror, "is going to regret underestimating your value. And I better get a front row seat to see it."

I turn slowly, the fabric moving like water around my legs. "You mean Everett."

"I mean everyone," she corrects. "But especially him."

For the first time since my parents’ accident, since I lost my dream of being a painter, she’s right.

And the person who’s been underestimating myself the most is me.

The Hawkeyes charity is the best chance I have at making something work. I’ll do anything I have to do to keep my father in Brookhaven.

And I mean, anything.

Chapter Four