The Man I Shouldn't Love

My Expensive Taste

Amy’s P.O.V

Yikes!

Guess how I was spending my Saturday afternoon?

Not studying… Not out with real friends… Not even in bed imagining a fictional world where Ley and I were lovers, which FYI, would have been a more productive use of my time than what I was currently doing.

"Oh, it is simply stunning! Don't you think so, girls?"

Quinn’s melodic, high-society voice echoing off the ceiling of Maison de L'Amour brought me back to a reality I dreaded.

Yep, I was shopping for bride's maid dresses with Quinn and her two other plastic friends; Chloe and Penelope.

Maison de L'Amour was the most exclusive, ultra-elite bridal boutique in the city. Girls like Quinn, Chloe and Penelope were their target audience; wealthy and looking like they were on a strict diet of luxury water and celery sticks

Penelope took a swirl round in the bride’s maid dress she was trying on. “This is A-mazinggggg.”

"Oh yeah…” Chloe purred, adjusting her designer sunglasses. "But are we sure about the emerald green for the bridal party? It requires... a very specific silhouette to pull off."

Her eyes flicked slowly toward me, lingering pointedly on my hips. My jaw tightened.

Oh girl, I dare you, talk directly to me with your full chest. Well, with your flat chest cos ain't nothing full about that.

"Oh, nonsense! Amy is going to look just... adorable," Quinn said, her voice dripping with that sickening, stylish condescension I had come to despise.

“I know I would,” I looked Chloe dead in the eyes. “Dresses sit best on you when you have curves and are not straight like a ruler.”

Chloe's jaw dropped in shock. She must have thought I couldn't talk because what was she expecting, I cower? She looked round, hoping for a defense but none came. Then she stomped away.

Quinn turned to the boutique stylist, a sharp-eyed woman who looked like she judged people based on their credit scores. "Please bring out the emerald silk gown for my maid of honor. I believe a size four should fit her perfectly."

I blinked rapidly behind my lenses. "Quinn, I am definitely not a size four. I'm a size twelve, occasionally a fourteen depending on the cut."

"Oh, sweetie, luxury Italian silk runs large! Don't be so self-conscious," Quinn laughed, patting my bare arm. "Just go try it on. For me?"

Ten minutes later, I was trapped in a dressing booth that was covered by just a thick curtain from the rest of the space.

The dress was gorgeous, highlighting my hourglass waist, but the fabric was pinching my heavy curves so tightly I could barely expand my lungs. The zipper at the back was strained to its limit. My glasses were fogging up from the sheer heat of my struggle.

I should have written my will before coming here. This dress is about to be the end of me.

Suddenly, a deep, commanding baritone voice echoed from the main showroom, causing my heart to skip a beat.

"Quinn. I have just ten minutes before my meeting. Why didn't you come out with your debit card?"

It was Ley.

“That’s why I said it was an emergency,” Quinn responded. I imagine her giving him the puppy eye. “I’m sorry baby. You know you are the only one I can rely on to save me. That’s why you are my knight in shining armor.”

“Well, I don’t have time and I can’t leave this card with you because I need it.” I heard Ley say.

This made a sudden, reckless wave of adrenaline crash through my system. This was my moment. If I was going to actively pursue him and break his cold "guardian" facade, I needed him to see me out of my baggy cardigans. I needed him to see me as a woman.

I took a sharp, deep breath to steady my racing pulse and prepare to step out.

Riiiip. f**k s**t!

The sound was loud, sudden, and terrifying. The cheap, altered zipper track split entirely down the center of my back, the silk tearing open to expose the bare, smooth skin of my spine all the way down to my waist.

"Also I wanted to get your opinion on the bride’s maid dress,” Quinn was telling Ley. My eyes flew wide open.

“Amy? Are you done in there?" Quinn's voice called out.

Before I could even shout a warning to stay back and with a dramatic flare of theatrical cruelty, Quinn pulled the curtain completely open, revealing my exposed, torn dress to the entire showroom. Chloe and Penelope instantly burst into cruel, muffled giggles behind their hands.

"Oh my goodness, Amy!" Quinn gasped loudly, her performative horror echoing through the boutique. "I had no idea you were that voluptuous. Oh, the poor Italian silk just couldn't handle you!"

I froze, clutching the front of the green silk dress to my chest, my face burning with humiliation and rage. I forced myself to stand tall, refusing to let them see me cry.

I looked up, and there was Ley looking at me. For a split moment, his eyes went completely dark, widening with a mixture of shock and a sudden, fierce, ravenous hunger as they raked over my bare shoulders and the exposed skin of my back.

Then, something changed.

"Get her a proper size. Now," Ley barked at the stylist, his low voice vibrating with an authority that made the woman instantly scramble. He flicked his eyes back to mine only for a second before turning on his heel. "I'll be waiting in the car."

The moment his heavy footsteps faded out of the boutique, the air in the room shifted. Chloe and Penelope wandered off to look at veils, leaving Quinn standing right outside my curtain with a malicious stare tracking my body.

Then it dawned on me, this b***h actually planned this to humiliate me.

“You… did… this,” I couldn't help but stammer.

She stepped inside my booth, cornering me against the mirror.

"Let’s be real for a moment here, Amy," Quinn whispered, her voice filled with venom. "Stanley could never be with someone like you. He is a billionaire, an hospitality emperor. He needs a flawless, elite queen beside him to save his legacy, not a chubby little charity case with thick glasses. He looks at you and feels nothing but pity. I just wanted to let you see for yourself so you would stop dreaming. He will never, ever be with a human eclipse like you."

I could literally feel the surge of rage rising within my chest. Before she finished talking, I had thought of one-thousand ways to kill her and in none of them did she die swiftly.

But I held myself back. Bullies like Quinn only thrive when you show them they can hurt you and I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of that. I needed to throw her off my scent. I pushed my glasses up my nose, looked Quinn dead in her cold eyes, and let out a loud, mocking scoff.

"Are you seriously jealous of me, Quinn?" I asked, forcing a bored, sarcastic chuckle. "Please. You can keep your old billionaire. I have no romantic interest in Stanley. I have a more expensive taste. Besides, he’s my dad’s longtime friend and practically an uncle to me. The thought of being with him in that way makes me completely sick. If this was why you wanted me to be your maid of honor, maybe we can drop the pretense now and you go for someone you have control over."

Quinn stared at me, searching my face for a lie.

You know that kind of genius poker face John Malkovich gave in the ‘Rounders’? Yup, I literally made an excellent recreation of it.

Slowly, a satisfied, smug smile crept back onto her lips. The b***h was convinced she had successfully crushed my spirit and secured her prize. "Good. I'm glad we understand each other, sweetie." She patted my cheek condescendingly and walked away to join her friends.

I let out an anxious breath, my heart racing as I quickly changed back into my baggy jeans and oversized cardigan. I grabbed my tote bag and hurried out of the dressing wing, desperate to get to the safety of the car.

But as I stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit exit hallway of the boutique, the blood completely drained from my face.

Stanley was standing right there by the glass doors. He hadn't walked out to the car yet.

He stood still, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. My eyes met his. They weren't filled with pity, and they weren't filled with desire anymore. They were completely hollow.

He had heard every single word.