BEING BROKE IS A CURSE
ISABELLA
The mall was a cathedral of excess
Marble floors that reflected the light, chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire apartment in Paris, and the kind of silence that made you feel like you had to whisper. Every store we passed was a name I recognized from magazines and not from real life.
Camille walked like she owned the place, which honestly, she probably could if she wanted to.
Ooh." She stopped in front of a window display, her face lighting up. "That one.
I looked at the dress she pointed at. It was red, short and covered in sequins that caught the light like fire. It was beautiful and it was also probably worth more than my monthly rent.
How much?" I asked.
Camille glanced at the tag. "Eight thousand."
Eight—Camille, that's insane.
I
