Page 84 of Hot Girl Summer

Please don’t let it be true.

“No, mum. It’s Amelia’s dress,” Danny says, softly.

I wonder why it’s taken him so long to answer.

Christine touches her temple as her expression falls, confusion etched on her face.

“No, no. I distinctly remember seeing Belle wearing that dress. I have it in a photo album somewhere, I’m sure.”

Richard places a hand on Christine’s with pleading eyes.

“She really is the most beautiful woman, and an excellent cook. Remember when—”

Danny’s chair screeches across the floor.

“I’m going to the bar. Would anyone like a drink?” he asks, his tone terse.

I’ve never heard him speak like that before. He’s angry, and I want to know why.

“It’s table service, darling,” Christine says, with a wave of her hand.

He stands, completely disregarding her.

“I’ll come with you,” I say, rising from my chair.

I’m desperate to question the sudden turn of events, to gain some clarity from the confusion, but I can’t confront him in front of his parents on their anniversary. Somehow, I don’t think he wants me to, either.

“No, it’s fine. Prosecco okay?”

I nod, and sit back down. I feel like I’ve just been told off. It doesn’t sit right with me at all. Within moments, his behaviour has made me feel small and insignificant again, like that little girl pushed aside all those years ago. Christine must sense my sadness, because she offers me a sympathetic look.

“I’m so sorry, dear. I get confused sometimes.”

“It’s fine, really. It happens,” I say, offering a sincere smile.

I can’t help but wonder if Christine is right. It’s too late, I’m already starting to question everything our relationship is built on. There’s only one way to find the answers. I have to know the truth.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, my sudden pallor and dizziness a viable reason. In the stall, I sit and scroll Belle’s Instagram feed, feeling ridiculous the entire time. I never want to be the girl who Insta stalks my man’s ex, but here I am, and there Belle is, wearing that same sage-green floral dress three summers ago.

Bile rises in my throat as all my fears are confirmed. There’s no denying now that I'm wearing Belle’s dress. Suddenly, I’m questioning the validity of our entire relationship. I've never felt so embarrassed, so powerless. But I need answers.

I slam my purse on the bar while Danny knocks back a shot. “Nice of you to tell me that I’m wearing your ex-wife's dress.”

“What? No, it’s—”

“Your niece’s? Right. Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

I show him the photo, which only adds to the ridicule. Woman scorned is never the brand I aspire to be.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“Actually, now seems like a pretty good time as any.”

“Just drop it. Please.” His jaw clenches, and I can sense the anger in his voice. If riling him up is the only way he’ll listen, I’m going to try my luck.

“I can’t believe you dressed me up like your ex; do you not realise how sick that is? I don’t know whether you’re still in love with her, or you just don’t want to be with me, but either way it’s not good enough. You didn’t even tell your parents that you were getting a divorce!”

My statements are met with excruciating silence.

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