Chapter Nine

The sun was high, the sky a soft sweep of pale blue, and for once—Celeste didn’t feel like she was running from something.

Victoria had made sure of that.

They’d started the day with lattes and a walk to the nail salon, where they sat side by side under warm lights. Celeste picked a soft pearl white for her nails—quiet, classic. Victoria, of course, went bold. Deep red with tiny gold accents on the ring finger.

"You're so predictable," Victoria teased, blowing on her nails as she peeked over at Celeste's.

Celeste gave a faint smile. "And you’re so… loud."

"Loud is called stylish, thank you very much."

Afterward, they wandered toward the bookstore on 5th, where the storefront was lined with ivy and sun-faded posters of upcoming signings. Celeste slowed near the entrance, eyes already scanning the display windows with that soft, distant look Victoria had come to recognize.

Victoria groaned dramatically. “Do we have to go in?”

Celeste arched a brow, amused. “Yes.”

“Books are just… so slow. You’re sitting there for hours, and all you’ve done is read about someone else doing something.”

“That’s the point,” Celeste replied, already pulling her toward the door. “They are predicatable, only leave you guessing in the best possible way.”

Victoria gave in with a mock sigh, following her into the cool, quiet space. Celeste moved like she belonged there, fingers gliding over spines, eyes flicking toward covers like she was greeting old friends.

Victoria leaned against a shelf, arms crossed. “You’re lucky you’re pretty. Otherwise, I’d ditch you right now.”

Celeste laughed softly, brushing her hair behind one ear. “Go wait outside, dramatic.”

They didn’t spend too long—just enough for Celeste to pick up a battered novel and a slim poetry collection she’d read a thousand times before.

And then they were off again—this time to The Rue House, an upscale boutique nestled between a designer shoe store and a jewelry gallery. The place oozed elegance, with chandelier lighting and velvet-lined racks filled with silk, satin, and lace.

"Oh my god,” Celeste whispered when they walked in, eyes wide. “We’re definitely not dressed for this.”

Victoria stared at a dress by the window—deep emerald green, the kind that shimmered when it caught the light. “Who cares?”

They tried everything.

Flowing gowns with high slits. Slippery champagne-colored numbers. Floor-length dresses with sheer backs and glittering beadwork. The laughter echoed through the boutique as they spun around in front of the mirrors, made faces, and modeled like runway queens.

They took turns in the velvet-curtained dressing rooms, showing off, twirling, laughing too loud for a place so polished. For a moment, it felt like something close to joy.

Victoria emerged in a crimson dress that hugged her like it was made for her.

“Okay, I have no where to wear this to, but I’m buying,” Victoria stated as she looked at herself in the mirror.

Celeste gave a small laugh.

Celeste stepped out in a pale gray gown that hugged her frame like it was made for her. The soft embroidery caught the light like falling frost. She turned slowly, brushing her fingers down the skirt.

Victoria’s mouth dropped open. “Stop. That’s you. If you don’t buy that, I’ll haunt you.”

Celeste smiled—truly smiled.

Then the door chimed.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was. The voice did it for her.

“Grayson, pleeease. I need something new. The last one wasn’t even designer and everyone saw it.”

Celeste’s spine straightened.

Victoria glanced toward the door, rolling her eyes. “Yikes. She’s got the kind of voice you hear in nightmares.”

Celeste laughed, lightly—casually—then bent down to adjust the hem of her dress. She subtly turned her back to the entrance, stepping farther behind a nearby display rack as if examining the details on a lace shawl.

“Do you know them?” Victoria asked, more curious than suspicious.

Celeste didn’t miss a beat. “No. Just not in the mood for entitled energy.”

“Fair,” Victoria said. “She’s already giving me a migraine and we’re not even in her radius.”

Blair’s complaints grew louder across the boutique as she clung to Grayson’s arm, insisting that her entire social reputation would collapse if she didn’t look “perfect” at the upcoming gala.

Celeste slipped back into the dressing room.

Victoria followed, hovering near the curtain. “Take your time. They’ll be gone soon, or atleast I hope so.”

Inside the safety of the velvet-draped space, Celeste pressed her hands to her chest, willing her heart to slow. She didn’t want Victoria to see it—the way her past had just stepped into the present, wearing expensive shoes and holding someone else’s hand.

But she breathed.

And she stayed hidden—just enough.

**

Inside the dressing room, Celeste quietly slipped out of the pale gray gown, folding it neatly and handing it off to Victoria to place back on the racks. Her hands were steady, but her chest felt tight. She didn’t dare peek out the curtain—she didn’t need to. Blair’s voice had already filled the boutique like static in her bones.

She pulled on her jeans and soft knit top, tying her hair back in a loose braid as she tried to focus on her breathing. Just breathe. Just walk out. You’re no one. You’re invisible.

Out on the boutique floor, Victoria stood at the register, already placing both gowns—her emerald one and Celeste’s silver-gray—on the counter.

“These two, please,” she told the young clerk.

From across the room, a shrill voice cut through the calm again. “No, this is ridiculous! Do you even know what you’re doing? This material is a joke, and the cut looks like it was made for someone shaped like a scarecrow.”

Blair.

The boutique employee flinched as she held up the dress Blair had shoved at her.

Grayson rubbed his temple, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Victoria turned, lips pursed.

“You know,” she said loudly, “for someone so obsessed with looking elegant, you’ve got the manners of a wasp in heels.”

Blair’s head snapped toward her.

Victoria didn’t stop. “If talking down to someone who’s literally helping you makes you feel better about yourself, you might want to reconsider what actually makes a woman worth admiring.”

The clerk at the register blinked, surprised, then smiled—just slightly—as she finished bagging the dresses.

Blair scoffed. “Excuse me?”

Victoria turned back to the counter. “No need to excuse rudeness. It speaks for itself.”

Grayson stepped forward as if to intervene, but Victoria had already taken her receipt and was walking toward the door.

Right then, Celeste emerged from the dressing room, her steps quiet, head down. She joined Victoria just as they pushed through the boutique doors together.

Blair’s voice rang out one last time behind them, sharp and biting—until it faltered.

Because in the light just beyond the boutique entrance, Blair caught a glimpse of Celeste’s silver hair—long, unmistakable, glinting under the dying sun.

Celeste didn’t look back.

But her body went still for half a second. A stiffness in her spine, a subtle shift in her breath. She kept walking.

Victoria didn’t stop either. She lifted a hand behind her as if waving off a gnat.

“Have a great day, sweetheart,” she called without looking back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “And maybe try saying please next time.”

They stepped out into the street, the tension of the boutique sloughing off like rain off glass.

Celeste exhaled slowly.

Victoria handed her the dress bag. “You okay?”

Celeste nodded. “Thanks for today.”

Victoria smiled. “You’re welcome. Now let’s find something fried and overpriced before I start a full-blown war with that woman.”

Celeste gave a soft laugh—small but real.

And together, they disappeared down the sunlit sidewalk, leaving the boutique—and its bitterness—behind.