Page 86 of Legally Mine

It had been five, actually. But who was counting?

As I crossed the nearly empty shop, Janette turned to the saleswoman, placing a hand on her shoulder familiarly. I recognized it as a common tactic of Janette's. Within five minutes, she'd be on a first-name basis with a Saudi prince.

"Just look at her, Denise," she said. "Isn't she absolutely stunning?"

I rolled my eyes, but smiled politely once I reached them. It was hard to take that kind of compliment from my mother. Considering how alike we looked, she was really complimenting herself more than anything. Although we had the striking difference of height and coloring (I had inherited my father's diminutive stature and his father's freckles and flaming red hair), looking at Janette's face was like looking at my own: the same slanted green eyes, the same heart-shaped mouth, the same button nose that was slightly rounded at the end.

"Hi, Mom," I greeted her with air kisses she usually offered.

"Janette, darling, Janette. You know the rules. This is my daughter, Denise, but you can't tell a soul. I'm not old enough to have a daughter this age, am I?"

Denise smiled conspiratorially as she looked me over. "Definitely not, Janette. I would have guessed sisters. Maybe even twins."

It was physically impossible not to roll my eyes again.

"Have you found a dress already?" I asked hopefully, looking past her at the rack of clothes. Maybe this wouldn't take very long.

"Oh, no, darling, we're just getting started. Now, I had Denise pull these ones for you, although it's been so long that I don't really know what your taste is. I guessed on your size, of course."

Janette scanned me up and down as if to gather my taste in formalwear from the cropped black pants and black T-shirt I was wearing. When she got to my slightly scuffed ballerina flats, she raised a plucked brow.

"How charmingly...down-to-earth you look. But perhaps we should pick out some other clothes too. We can't have you entering society looking like the Audrey Hepburn before she got her makeover."

"You don't need to worry about that," I said as I followed her across the shop. "I'm a twenty-six-year-old lawyer, not a teenager getting ready for cotillion."

Janette sighed as she examined the fabric of a beige summer sweater. "I do regret that," she admitted. "That we never had you formally announced in society. You would have made a lovely debutante."

I remained quiet. It didn't seem worth the effort to point out that the reason I had never "come out" in society (if I'd even wanted to) was because she had skipped town again and the Chambers family had never actually recognized me. I couldn't even remember which husband she'd been on at that point. Third or fourth, it didn't matter. All of them had long been more important to Janette than her own child. Until, it seemed, she had new ones with her current and most long-lasting husband.

"Anyway," she said. "It's not about coming out, my love. It's about fitting in. You've got the pedigree––you're my daughter, after all. But you can't show up places looking like a ragamuffin. I know that's the style these days with young people, but I don't care what people say. Appearances do matter."

I looked down at my simple outfit. It wasn't Gucci or anything, but I didn't think my clothes were anything to be sneered at. One plus of the study-abroad year I'd spent in Paris (ironically seeking a relationship with my mother, who'd never shown interest in reciprocating at that point either) was that I'd paid attention to the basic tenets of French style: simple, classic silhouettes and good material.

"And really, you'll need to get used to it, won't you?" Janette remarked as she paged through a few other shirts.

I frowned as I trailed behind her. "What do you mean?"

Janette smiled at me, brilliant and white, the kind of smile that only comes from cosmetically enhanced dental work. "Well, I just assumed, you know. Brandon Sterling is one of the biggest donors on the East Coast. Excellent choice, by the way. He's still married, of course, but that's not a real obstacle. Miranda––horrible woman––can't hold on forever."

I opened my mouth and closed it again. "How did you know about us?"

There was no use in denying it; she was a stranger, but she was, after all, my mother. I was more concerned that Brandon and I hadn't been as discreet as we'd thought.

Janette waved my concern away as she pulled a diaphanous white silk blouse off a rack and held it up to my body. "Oh, a mother has her ways. You don't need to worry, dearest, your secret is safe with me." She returned the blouse and winked. "That was him on the phone last night, wasn't it?" Janette asked, her big green eyes suddenly sharp with interest.

I frowned. "Um..."

"Let's dish. How long has it been serious? Men don't get territorial like that if it's not, you know. I'm impressed, darling. He really is such a catch!"

"Um..."

"You know, if we play our cards right, I could help you get a proposal by the end of the summer. Miranda used to be pretty, but she can't compete with you." Janette sighed and tapped my chin wistfully. "Effervescence of youth. Can't be replaced, much as we might try."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, shaking off her finger as I finally found my voice. How did she know about this? Where was she getting her information? "Proposal? Marriage? I'm nowhere near thinking about––"

"Pish, don't fret," Janette cut me off. "You'll get frown lines. Do you always take everything so seriously? Now, it's your grandmother you should be talking to about marriage. She's more excited about it than I am."

I huffed. Of course Bubbe was the culprit. She was so over the moon about Brandon, and she loved sticking it to Janette. When Janette had called for my number, Bubbe likely couldn't resist telling her that Danny's daughter, the garbage collector's daughter, was dating a billionaire. I considered what would happen if Brandon decided to get into politics as well. I was going to have to have a serious talk with my grandmother.

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