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Chapter 15

Chapter

Fifteen

Olivia

I stared at the Saks garment bag with the Oscar de la Renta inside. It was draped over the chair that Pippa had vacated when she left, and I was still debating taking it home.

As Pippa had promised, the dress had fit me like it had been molded to my body. Every curve was accented, and every seam fell in the perfect place. Slipping it on had made me feel like I was someone else entirely, and as I’d looked at myself in the triptych mirrors and Pippa had bustled behind me fussing with my hair and slipping my feet into strappy gold sandals, I’d felt like someone who was finally good enough.

“It’s just a dress,” I told myself fiercely as I counted down the time until I could leave.

But that wasn’t true, was it? I’d seen the power of beautiful garments to transform my clients from unsure and hesitant to confident and bold. I didn’t believe that anyone needed a designer bag to be special, but I knew that the right clothes or accessories could make you feel special.

I hadn’t told Caroline about the dress, because I knew she wouldn’t approve. She would tell me that I’m already stunning and don’t need some overpriced dress to make me feel worthy. But Caroline had mostly heard stories about my mother. She’d only met her once, and I’d never told her the unfair and snobby things my mother had said about her afterward.

Despite living in the same city as my parents, I rarely saw them, and I never introduced friends to them. I’d tried that in the past and it had never gone well. It had taken a lot to break free of their financial and emotional control, and the annual party was the one remaining cord that connected us. A party that loomed closer every day.

I picked up the office phone and dialed my parents’ number by heart. I didn’t call from my cell because then my mother would be sure to let me go to voicemail. She always had to maintain the upper hand, which meant only talking when she wished. I wasn’t sure if Saks Fifth Avenue would pop up on their caller ID, but I wasn’t even sure if my parents remembered where I worked. Probably not, since the shame of having a daughter who worked for a living had probably banished any details of my position from their minds.

The phone rang and my palms became sweaty, making me change the receiver to the other hand. I almost hung up after four rings, but then she answered.

“Hello?” Her voice was just as strong and imperious as ever, despite her advancing years.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Mother,” she corrected. It galled her that I called her something as common as Mom, and she refused to answer to it.

“I’m calling to RSVP to the party,” I said, barreling forward with my prepared words even as my voice trembled. “For two.”

“Two?” The ice in her voice chilled me even across the phone line. “You’re bringing a friend?”

“I’m bringing a boyfriend.”

She let out a tortured sigh. “I hope you aren’t planning to bring some kitchen worker to my party, Olivia.”

“You mean the sous chef at Eleven Madison Park, the Michelin-starred restaurant?”

“He was still a cook,” she snapped.

I fought the urge to bite back and ask her what she’d done with her life aside from marrying my wealthy father, but I didn’t dare.

“Well, my date is not a cook.” I steadied my voice. “Actually, he’s royalty.”

There was silence on the other end.

I took the opportunity to snatch back the morsel I’d dangled. “But if you don’t want us to come, I can make other plans.”

“Of course, you’re coming.” She sniffed, the superior tone returning to her voice. “You know how important this party is to me and your father.”

I didn’t correct her. The party was important to her. Full stop. My father only cared because she did and because when my mother was miserable, she made sure everyone around her was even more miserable.

“Then the prince and I look forward to it.” I didn’t wait for a reply as I disconnected and sagged back into the chair. My body was shaking, and bile teased the back of my throat, just like every time I had to speak to my mother.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to take three long, deep breaths like one of my former therapists had taught me. Then I stood and locked my gaze on the garment bag before grabbing it by the hanger and folding it over my arm.

No going back now.

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