Page 93 of Vicious Games

Stella raises an eyebrow. “They don’t, huh?”

She then steps back and gives me a once-over, assessing me like she’s scanning my measurements in her head. Then she starts pulling items off the rack and raising them high for me to look at.

“What about this one?” She holds up a red blouse.

“It’s cute, but—”

“And this?” She shows me a leather jacket before I can finish.

“Sure, but—”

“Ooh, Frankie would looksogood in these,” Anna chimes in, handing Stella a pair of flared black jeans.

Before I know it, the two of them are grabbing pieces left and right—tops, skirts, shoes, accessories—like they’re building me a whole new wardrobe. I just stand there, feeling awkward and increasingly confused.

Did they not hear me when I said the clothes here wouldn’t fit me? Do they think I’ll magically shrink into a size zero overnight somehow?

I trail behind them as they gather more items until Stella finally flags down a sales clerk.

“How can I help you today, Miss Romano?” the woman asks, her eyes practically glowing with dollar signs.

“I’d like to purchase all of these,” Stella says.

“Wonderful,” the clerk beams. “Let me ring them up—”

“In sizes fourteen, sixteen, and eighteen,” Stella finishes.

The clerk practically freezes in place, her smile faltering. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Romano. Our store only carries sizes up to eight.” The clerk then glances over at me like I’ve just shattered her commission dreams.

“That sounds like ayouproblem,” Stella replies coolly. “If you want my business—or my family’s—you’ll figure it out.”

The clerk looks from Stella to me, then to Anna. Three pairs of eyes. One silent threat.

“I’ll… go speak with my manager,” she mumbles before scurrying off to make a call.

“Stella—” I start to say, but she holds up a hand to silence me, her gaze still locked on the counter like a predator tracking prey.

“I’m proving a point.”

That the fashion industry only cater to the thin and rich? Yeah, I already know that. I don’t need it to be carved into stone for emphasis.

I glance at Annamaria, hoping she’ll talk some sense into her sister, but she’s watching Stella with a kind of quiet admiration. There’s even a small, proud smile playing at the corner of her lips.

When the clerk finally returns to us, her face is red, her tone flustered. “Terribly sorry for the wait, Miss Romano. I’ve spoken to the owner, and we’d be happy to custom-order the items in your requested sizes. Would you like them delivered to your home?”

Stella doesn’t even blink. “Send everything to Miss Frances O’Malley at St. Mary’s Orphanage. You can Google the address.”

“We’ll have them delivered by the end of next week.” The clerk nods.

Stella hands her a sleek black card, but the clerk holds up her hand, shaking her head.

“No need, Miss Romano. Consider it a gift for our oversight in not offering inclusive sizing. An error we plan to correct moving forward.”

“Glad to hear it,” Stella replies, finally offering the clerk the privileged of her smile.

“If that’s the case,” Anna steps in, her voice sweet but firm. The orphanage would be grateful for any donations. Perhaps any items that are no longer for sale? Out-of-season stock? My family would greatly appreciate it if your store could pass those along to the orphanage, too.”

The clerk blanches for a second, but then nods. “Of course. I’ll check with the owner, but I’m sure that can be arranged.”

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