Chapter 17

Just inside the mall, I hit a casual shoe store, where I purchased the cheapest pair of black tennis shoes I could find and immediately slipped them onto my feet. As I shoved my old high heels into the new shoe box, Bianca made a point of looking at her watch.

"Are you planning to wear those tonight?" she asked.

I looked down at my feet. "No. Why?"

"Because we're wasting time."

"Oh come on," I said. "That took all of five minutes."

"Actually, it took ten."

Somehow, I doubted that, but I didn't argue, because I had one more store to hit before getting down to business. To Bianca's obvious annoyance, that store was Victoria Secret. Under her scornful gaze, I grabbed a handful of panties off the nearest display.

Standing beside me, she eyed the panties, all silk and satin in various colors. "We're supposed to be shopping for a dress. Remember?"

"And extras." I mimicked the same bossy tone she'd used on me. "Remember?"

Her mouth tightened. "I think he meant accessories."

All I knew was that if I didn't get my hands on new panties, like now, people on the escalator would be seeing way more of my accessories than was legal.

Ignoring her protests, I dashed to the yoga section, where I found long black yoga pants and a soft gray shirt with long sleeves and a V-neck. On my way to the front counter, I grabbed a couple of bras in my size and added them to the mix.

I marched up to the counter and tossed the items onto the smooth surface.

"Aren't you going to try them on?" Bianca asked.

"Nope."

"Why not?" she said.

"Because," I said, "in five minutes, I'll be wearing them."

She eyed the pile of panties. "Those too?" Her gaze fell to my skirt, and her lips formed a sneer. "What are you wearing now?"

Judging from the look on her face, it was pretty obvious she knew the answer to that question. Damn it. It wasn't my fault I was wearing someone else's clothes – or when it came to undergarments, none at all.

I gave her my sweetest smile. "I'm wearing Jake's."

She drew back, and her face lost a fraction of that cool composure. My satisfaction was short-lived when I considered the long-term ramifications. Why on Earth had I said that? Sooner or later, she'd find out I was lying. And, even if she didn't find out, did I really want people to think I was running around in Jake's underwear?

I felt a reluctant smile tug at my lips. Probably, Jake had nice underwear. I envisioned form-fitting black briefs hugging his tight ass. And then, I envisioned his ass without the briefs.

"Will this be all?"

I gave a little jump, and turned to see a teenage sales clerk reaching for my pile of clothes.

"Yup, that's all," I said. "Except, uh, I'm going to be wearing these, so could you please snip off the tags?"

The clerk reached for a pair of panties and stopped in mid-motion. Her eyebrows furrowed. "All of these?" she asked.

"Right," Bianca said. "Like she's going to wear five pairs of panties at once. Just pick one, and cut the tags, will you? We're in a hurry."

The clerk gave a small flinch. "Of course," she said. "Sorry."

I gave Bianca a dirty look and turned back to the clerk. "Don't be sorry," I said. "It's my fault. I should've been more specific." I glanced toward the dressing room area. "Hey, is it okay if I change in the dressing room?"

Bianca rolled her eyes. "That's what it's for, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said, "but not when you've already bought the clothes." I looked to the clerk for confirmation.  "Right?"

"Um…" Her gaze drifted from me to Bianca.

"Oh forget it," Bianca said. "I'll be waiting outside." With that, she turned away and started stalking toward the store's entrance.

The clerk pulled out a small pair of scissors and started removing tags. I leaned toward her and lowered my voice. "Sorry about that," I said. "The thing is…" I flicked my gaze toward Bianca, "I'm wearing her clothes, and she really wants them back. Like now."

The clerk studied my decidedly trashy outfit. "No kidding?" she said.

"And," I said, "she's got to be at work in an hour. If someone steals her corner…" I shrugged. "Well, you know how it is."

The clerk's gaze shifted to Bianca, standing just outside the store entrance. As if feeling our combined gazes, Bianca looked up.

I gave her a little wave. "Don't worry!" I called. "I'll be returning them in a minute."

Frowning, Bianca returned her attention to her phone. While the clerk rang up my purchases, I studied Bianca through the glass. Funny, she and I probably did wear the same size, even if she was noticeable taller.

I felt myself smile. Maybe I should give her the hoochie hand-me-downs, if only to see her reaction. The look on her face would be almost worth it.

Ten minutes later, I was huddled in the changing room, wearing my new shirt and yoga pants, along with – thank God – new undergarments. I shoved the hoochie-wear into the shopping bag and breathed a sigh of relief.

It's not that I minded dressing sexy. What I did mind dressing was like a girl who had sex for money, especially in small, grubby bills.

Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and called my sister.

Selena answered with a frantic, "Luna? Why'd you hang up on me?"

Cradling the phone, I said in a hushed tone, "You mean Anna."

"Who?" Selena asked.

"Anna," I repeated. "Me. It's the name I'm going by now."

"Oh for crying out loud," she said, "that's like the tenth name since high school."

"So?" I said. "I'm trying to find one I like. You got the only good one in the family."

That wasn't completely true. My brothers, Steve and Anthony, had normal names. Of course, they had been named by my Dad, not my flake of a Mom, who ran a fortune-telling business of all things.

"Forget that," Selena said. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because," she said, "you'll never guess who came into mom's shop looking for you."

"Actually," I said, "I bet I can." I glanced at the dressing room door. "But wait. First, I've got a question."

"What?"

I tried to sound casual. "I heard you're getting married. Is that true?"

"Oh crap," she groaned. "Who told you?"

"Thanks a lot," I said. "So it was supposed to be a secret?" My heart sank. "From me?"

"No, it's not like that," she said. "I wanted to tell you myself. That was the whole point."

"Oh." I released a long, unsteady breath. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said. "I had to practically beg everyone to keep it quiet. Not that it did any good. So who told you? Mom?"

"No."

"Dad?"

"No."

"Steve? Anthony? Who?"

"Jake."

"Shut up," she said. "You don't mean Jake Bishop?"

"Your future brother-in-law? Yeah. That's exactly who I mean."

"Oh my God," she said. "He found you?"

"Sort of."

"I knew it," she muttered. "Why was he looking for you anyway? Wait. Are you sure you're okay? He's not with you now, is he?"

"No. Jeez, I'm fine. I'm in a dressing room."

"You're in trouble," she said. "I can tell."

"I am not." Not at the moment anyway. "But I am staying with Jake, so–"

"What!" she said. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, "the guy's a total criminal."

"He is not," I said.

"He is too. He's been in and out of jail for as long as I can remember."

"Yeah, but not for anything big," I pointed out. "Fights mostly. Usually with his Dad. Who's a total drunk, by the way."

"So?"

"So no wonder Jake fought with him."

"Wait a minute," she said. "You don't actually know him, do you?"

"I did," I said. "Sort of. Remember?"

"No. I don't remember," she said. "He's like five years older than you. You didn't date him or anything. Did you?"

"God no." Not that he'd asked. "Now seriously, stop worrying. I called because there's something I really need to know, like now."

"What?" she asked.

"What exactly does Jake do for a living?"

She made a scoffing sound. "Nothing," she said. "Well, nothing legal, I'm guessing."

"So you don't even know?" I made a sound of frustration. "Come on! You're marrying his brother for God's sake. You've got to know."

"Why?" she said. "We never talk about him."

"I think he's famous," I said.

"Jake?" She gave a snort. "You mean infamous."

"No," I said. "Famous. People keep asking for his autograph."

"Oh shut up."

"I'm serious," I said.

A hard knock sounded at my dressing room door.

"Sorry!" I called. "I'll be out in a minute."

"You'd better be," Bianca snapped.

Oh crap. It was her.

Bianca knocked again, harder this time. "We had three hours," Bianca said, "not three years."

"I've gotta go," I whispered into the phone. "I'll call you later, alright?"

I hung up before she could say anything else – although, as I heard my phone buzz again and again, I was pretty sure my voicemail was getting an earful.

A half-hour later, I stood with Bianca, looking in the full-length mirror. Normally, I liked to shop, but this was less fun than a root canal.

Bianca wasn't helping. Insisting it was part of her job – whatever that meant – she selected every single dress that I tried on, going for an ultra-conservative look that just wasn't my style.

I winced at my reflection. "This can't be what he had in mind," I said.