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I shake my head. “The next one in the series.”
He tips his head and winks at me. “I hope it’s as exciting as the last one.” Then he walks out and calls, “Happy reading.”
I stare at the rows of beautiful gowns lining the walls of the dressing room as I tug at the sleeves of my sweatshirt. This is… overwhelming. But Logan said his mum won’t mind.
My hand skims along the silks, cashmere, and tulle as I walk along.Where do I even start?
I take down a hanger with a long cream dress on. It’s got a high halter neck. I turn it around.Backless.I hang it back on the rack. I need something with in-built support if I can’t wear a bra.
I pull down another long dress. This one’s red with wide straps that lead to a scooped neckline, and it’s a thicker material. I lay it on the giant round velvet stool and pull my sweatshirt over my head to try it on.
Forty minutes later, and enough dresses that I’ve lost count, I give up, slumping onto the velvet stool with a groan. It’s no use. All these beautiful dresses and none fit. It’s not like my breasts are massive. Maybe on the larger side for my frame, but I inherited that from Mum. Chloe’s always said I should show them off more. But the rate this is going, I’ll have to wear my sweatshirt to the opera.
I stare glumly at all the brand-new designer shoes displayed in neat rows on the opposite wall. We aren’t even the same shoe size, so I’ve no luck there either.
“There aren’t any slippers in here. No matter how hard you stare, trying to find a pair.”
Logan’s standing in the doorway, his eyes glinting. He’s changed into his black joggers and T-shirt again.
“Destroy my dreams, why don’t you?”
He comes and drops next to me on the giant stool. He smells incredible. I should ask him what it is. I might get it for Drew. But then, why would I want my brother to smell like Logan? Why would I want anyone to smell like the man I can’t stand? Maybe I did hit my head in the bathroom yesterday.
“What’s with the frown?”
“I’m not frowning.”
Logan chuckles.
“I’m not.” I side-eye him, crossing my arms with a huff.
“All right, Mads. You aren’t.”
He falls into a happy silence next to me, his face relaxed as he looks around the dressing room.
“Why do you call me Mads? Everyone else calls me Maddy.”
He lifts one shoulder. “You don’t look mad when everyone else speaks to you. You save that face for me. Told you that you think I’m special.”
“Ugh, please.”
Logan lies on the stool, stretching his arms above his head with his usual smirk on his face. His t-shirt rides up showing off sculpted abs and muscular hipbones where his joggers hang low.
“My retinas are getting burned.” I tut and look away as he laughs.
He’s a lot happier since he came back from his meeting this morning. Less distracted. Maybe that’s got to do with the phone call he went off to make. Maybe he was calling Halliday to thank her for meeting him. He did say he thought she was beautiful.
I swallow, tracing circles in the plush carpet with my toe. “I was looking to see if there was a dress I could borrow for the opera.”
“And is there?”
Logan’s got his hands behind his head, his shoulders lifted as he looks at me. How can he look so comfortable? He’s holding a goddamn sit up position like he finds it relaxing.
“No.”
He sits all the way up, his brows pulling low. “Oh.” His eyes scan the racks full of clothes.
“I’m not being picky,” I huff. “They’re all beautiful.”
