Page 4 of My Real Love Affair

“That’s my girl, always thinking like a businesswoman.” Cleo grinned. “Now try on the navy one. I have a feeling about it.”

I headed back into the fitting room, carefully stepping out of the blue dress. The boutique was one of my favorites in the city. It was a high-end custom plus-size store that understood that glamorous fashion came in all sizes. The owner, Maria, had become a friend over the years, and she always set aside pieces she thought would be perfect for me.

The navy dress was completely different from the royal blue—sleek, sophisticated, with delicate beading along the bodice that caught the light when I moved. The moment I put it on, I knew it was the one.

“Cleo,” I called out, stepping back into the main area of the boutique.

She looked up from her phone and her jaw literally dropped. “Holy shit, Mel. That’s it. That’sdefinitelyit.”

The dress fit like it had been made specifically for my body. The color complemented my sandy blonde hair beautifully, and the cut emphasized my waist while flowing gracefully over myhips. I felt elegant, confident, and most importantly like myself. The bodice had rouching that angled toward my left hip, giving the illusion of an hourglass figure. There was just enough cleavage to be sexy, but not so much to be deemed inappropriate for a wedding.

“The beading is gorgeous,” I said, running my hands over the intricate details. “And it photographs well?”

“Are you kidding? You look like a goddess.” Cleo was already moving around me, capturing every angle. “This is going to be perfect for the wedding. Sophisticated enough to show respect for the occasion, but stunning enough that you’ll hold your own among all those society queens.” She brought her phone close to the bodice and snapped a picture of the beadwork. “I’m going to tease your socials with a little sneak peek. They can wait for the whole look.”

I smiled, doing another turn. This felt right. Not too flashy, not too understated. Just perfect for watching my old friend marry the love of her life while trying to navigate the complex social dynamics of New York high society.

“I just wish you could come with me,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Cleo’s expression softened. “I know, babe. But personal assistants aren’t plus-ones to these kinds of events. Besides, you’ll be fine. You always are.”

She was right, of course. I’d been attending events solo for years now, building my brand and my reputation one carefully curated appearance at a time. But sometimes I got tired of always being on duty. It was exhausting constantly thinking about how I looked and what message I was sending. It would be nice to have my best friend there to make sarcastic comments and keep me grounded.

“You’ll get all the behind-the-scenes content when I get back,” I promised. “Every detail.”

“I’m counting on it. Now go change so we can get this beauty paid for and get out of here. I’m starving, and there’s a new brunch place I want to try.”

I was just stepping back into the fitting room when I heard Cleo gasp.

“Oh my God, Mel! You need to see this!”

“What?” I called out, struggling with the dress’s hidden zipper.

“Austin Bancroft is trending again. This is unbelievable.”

I paused in my undressing. Austin Bancroft. Now there was a name that showed up in my social media feeds with alarming regularity. The guy was a walking scandal, always photographed stumbling out of clubs with different women, making headlines for his latest outrageous behavior. He was the kind of person who gave wealthy people a bad name. Tone deaf. Obnoxious. Above consequences, apparently.

“What did he do this time?” I asked, finally managing to get the dress off and slip back into my regular clothes. “Bang a married model? Fall off his own yacht?”

“Worse,” Cleo said, her voice filled with the kind of glee she reserved for particularly juicy gossip. “Just listen to this.”

I emerged from the fitting room to find her holding her phone out toward me, her finger hovering over the play button.

“Someone leaked a voice recording,” she explained. “He called a reporter this morning.”

The recording started, and I immediately recognized Austin’s voice—deeper than I’d expected, with that slight rasp that suggested too much drinking and not enough sleep. But it was what he was saying that made my jaw drop.

“I’m just happy to keep spending their money.”

I grimaced as the recording ended. “Ouch. That’s… wow.”

“Right?” Cleo shook her head in amazement. “I mean, we all know he’s a mess, but saying it out loud to a reporter? Evenaccidentally? That’s next-level stupid. And what does he mean, ‘their’ money? Like he’s not one of them?” She shook her head. “The delusion of these billionaire asshats.”

I took the navy dress and headed toward the register, my mind spinning. Austin Bancroft was always in trouble. Armand Bancroft, Austin’s father, was not known for his patience with public embarrassment.

“What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when Armand Bancroft hears that recording,” I muttered as we got in line behind another customer.

Cleo shuddered dramatically. “God, can you imagine? I wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of a Bancroft for anything.” She paused, then gave me a wicked grin. “Under one, though? That’s a different story.”