It didn’t come naturally to her, because this country-club look was pretty much the opposite of Nina’s style, but she’d taken to thinking of it more like a costume than an outfit—as if she’d been cast in a movie. Today, for instance, she was playing the role of the Prince’s Girlfriend, Picking Up Her Dress for the Ball. That character wore a long-sleeved dress, tights, and nude lip gloss.
“Sorry, I don’t have your gown,” the salesgirl said, emerging from behind a curtain that presumably led to the storeroom.
Nina glanced at the girl’s name tag and tried a smile. “Lindsay. Do you know when it will be ready? I need to wear it tomorrow night.”
Lindsay shook her head. “We don’t have anything under your name.”
“It’s navy with a black overlay. I was getting it hemmed,” Nina said, and realized she was babbling. She swallowed, trying to think of how Samantha would handle this. “I was here on Sunday with Daphne Deighton. Damien was helping us.”
“Damien’s off today.”
“Can you please look again?” Nina ignored the stirrings of panic deep in her stomach.
The salesgirl moved to a computer. Her fingers clicked over the keyboard for a few moments, and she frowned. “Nina Gonzalez?”
“Yes.” Nina almost said, Don’t you know me? but caught herself just in time. This insta-celebrity thing was really messing with her head.
Lindsay’s frown deepened. “But you canceled your gown order.”
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“Yes,” Lindsay insisted. She spoke the words crisply, with a sort of relish, as if she felt vindicated by this proof. “It’s logged right here—you called later that afternoon to cancel. You said you’d found something else that you liked more.”
“That wasn’t me,” Nina burst out. “I don’t know who that was, but you must have mixed up the names, confused me with another customer. I didn’t cancel this order.”
Lindsay gave a sigh that clearly indicated this wasn’t her problem. “We refunded your credit card, since we hadn’t begun the alterations,” she offered, as if Nina should be thrilled to have her money back.
Nina’s heart thudded frantically in her chest. “The engagement party is tomorrow. I’m supposed to be there, at the ball, with Jeff!”
“I wasn’t aware that you were attending with His Highness,” Lindsay replied. Presumably this was to remind Nina that, as a commoner, she should have referred to Jeff by his proper rank.
“Where is the gown? I’ll take it somewhere else for the alterations ….” Nina swallowed. She sounded borderline hysterical.
“I’m afraid someone purchased that gown a few days ago,” Lindsay said, and Nina noticed that she was no longer pretending not to know which gown Nina meant. “Of course, you’re welcome to browse the racks to see what’s still available. Though I’m afraid most things left won’t be your size. It’s been a busy few days.”
“What’s going on out here?” A man with gray hair and wire-framed glasses stepped out from the back room. His eyes traveled over Nina with evident distaste. “Is there a problem?”
That was when Nina realized what was going on.
These people were trying to get rid of her. They knew precisely who she was, and didn’t approve of her—her background or her style or the way she’d supposedly “stolen” Jeff. These were the people leaving all those ugly comments online.
A few stray shoppers glanced over, curious about the drama that was unfolding before them.
Nina had never in her life cried over clothes, yet now she felt wildly close to tears. She forced herself to swallow them back. Making a scene would only result in more unflattering coverage, alongside pictures of her looking flushed and angry.
How was she supposed to get a black-tie gown by tomorrow evening? For every other function like this, Nina had just borrowed something from Samantha, but she couldn’t very well ask Samantha now ….
Her shoulders slumped. She remembered what Sam had said when she came over to Nina’s dorm room and they got into that awful fight. You’re like a sister to me.
She’d been so focused on all those memories of Samantha being thoughtless or selfish—but now another memory rose to Nina’s mind. Of the time she’d gotten that awful bowl cut, the one Jeff had mentioned at Wawa. The girls at her school had teased her mercilessly for it.
When Nina told Sam what had happened—and that she was stuck with the haircut for months, until it grew out—Sam had found a pair of scissors and given herself a bowl cut, too, in solidarity. And of course, because she was the princess, she somehow managed to make it fashionable—turning Nina into a trendsetter, and saving her from fifth-grade social ostracism.
Nina had accused Sam of taking her for granted, but it struck Nina that maybe she’d taken Sam for granted, too. They had been friends for so long that she’d come to view their friendship as a permanent thing, as immutable and reliable as the stone of the Georgian Monument.
Nina cringed as she recalled some of the things she’d told her friend. Well, she was going to see Samantha at the ball tomorrow anyway; she might as well get a day’s head start. Nina needed to ask for Sam’s help.
And her forgiveness.