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“Don’t lie to me, or to yourself. There are plenty of cheap clothes that don’t look likethat.”
My dress isn’t that bad, is it?
I glance down and give it a proper look. I can’t say I paid much attention to what it looked like; it was cheap and my size and not too tight. I tend to avoid revealing shapes.
So fine, it’s not the best dress.
Rather than attempt a defense, I challenge, “How would you know? Have you ever shopped on a budget?”
“Pretty sure I’d come up with something better than your wardrobe.”
I open the door. “Bye, asshole.”
“It sucks when I’m right, doesn’t it?” he sneers after me.
I don’t turn as I walk toward the house, but I do lift my middle finger in his general direction.
His laughter follows me all the way home.
29
SARAH
Idon’t like opening the door. For one, it’s not really my place. But also, the fear of my anonymous stalker, my watcher turning up always makes my stomach drop. What if it’s him? Her? Them?
But Rhys and Roman are out at practice and Violet’s on a video call with her debate group, so I make my way downstairs.The video feed shows a man in a familiar uniform, so I open the door a few inches, self-conscious.
I’m glad to have Blue at my feet. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, but she’s getting big, and a medium-size dog would give most people pause if they intended to cause harm.
The delivery guy doesn’t look up from his device. “Delivery for Ms. Andrews?”
I frown. “Me?” I check with him.
I didn’t order anything, and no one knows I live here—except my hosts, and well, Marius.
Unless your stalker knows.
“If that’s your name, yep.” He points to the label.
I haven’t formally moved in here; my address is still at the dorm for any relevant information. Yet there’s no mistaking the name on the large box he’s carrying.
I frown, but I sign the receipt anyway.
I jiggle the box, but the noise tells me very little. It’s not overly heavy for its size, but it’s full. I bring it to the kitchen to cut through the tape with the scissors.
I’m half expecting body parts in there, my heart rate high as I lift the lid up. Instead, I find a note scribbled on thick, luxurious paper.
The writing is both elegant and rough, harsh lines finishing the strokes, each letter inclined at a precise angle, yet somehow it seems written in a rush.
Challenge accepted. —MG.
I didn’t need the dramatic signature to guess who sent this.
No longer fearful, and a lot more intrigued, I unwrap the tissue paper, and find…clothes. A lot of clothes, all of them with tags, and notes in the same script attached to them.
The first reads:See? That’s cheap.
The tag, circled three times in bold red, is for $14.99, and it’s attached to a stripy bottle-green dress. To my surprise, it’s a tent dress—my go-to style—but it’s much prettier than my, well,sack, as some say.
