Page 32 of Breaking Point

“I promise: your butt looks amazing. However!” I clap as she twirls, scrutinizing every detail in the mirror. “If you don’t feel like your butt looks amazing, it’s not the one.”

Eleanor pouts, shimmying off the pedestal andhopping toward the dressing room.

I flip my hair over my shoulder, my body teeming with energy after spending the entire day perched in a chair between outfit changes.

Sunlight filters in through the windows that circle the perimeter of the shop, and the delicate white dresses sparkle inthe soft light. I’ve visited several times over the years, but all of the extravagant gowns are crafted in-house. Which takes time. My gaze lifts as Eleanor climbs out in a princess ball gown, and a sudden memory hits me:

It wasn’t long ago that Charlotte stood in the same position, her sparkling mess of a dress splayed around her like a white halo. She hated it.

It was her mother’s choosing after all.

For a moment, Eleanor’s fiery red hair drapes over her shoulders, and she looks so much like Charlotte that it hurts.

Call her, part of me reasons, but the guilt of having gone this long without saying anything sinks in.

She’s not gone, but she might as well be with the way I’ve treated her.

“What do you think?” Ella asks, and I snap to reality.

“I don’t think it’s your style. Have you tried on the silk one yet?” I wonder aloud, thinking of the one I’d selected to try earlier.

She sighs. “Not yet. I’m hesitant to try it.”

I practically fall into a nearby chair, forcing a smile as I watch her in the mirror. “No pressure. But who knows? You might be surprised by something different.”

Her smile is warm but exhausted. She’s clearly just as tired as I am. But finding the right dress is important.

You only wear it once.

She dredges up another smile. “Okay. Why not?”

She disappears again, and this time, I don’t bother hiding the fact that I rub at the nasty headache forming at my temples.

“Hey, Taylor?” I whisper, knowing he’s standing close behind.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you by chance remember what time my dad’s party is tonight?”

“In about two hours from now, but you still have to get ready and hand-off with Crew.”

I’m mentally preparing the check-list of to-dos to get done between now and home. Another overwhelming throb swims over me, but I force it down with another breath.

“This is manageable,” I whisper to myself.

“What’s that?” Taylor’s voice is closer, and I take a steadying breath, pushing myself upright.

“Nothing. We're just in for a fun night.”

My father’s never been one for throwing parties. That was a talent reserved for my mother. Hosting, picking the perfect music, pairing the perfect red wine to serve with the hors d’oeuvres…

Mom taught me everything I know. After her death, I’ve done my best to remind him of everything she used to love so much about it. I didn’t think he ever listened… until tonight.

I smile as he shakes hands with a smiling woman in a sparkling dress. She’s likely complementing the party, telling him how beautiful everything is. What surprises me most is that he smiles back. He squeezes her shoulder, leaning in to hug her.

He looks…happy. Engaged.The sight makes my eyes water, and as the sound of the music floats back to me, I swipe the emotions away.

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see a man standing there.

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