CLARISSA’S POV
I run my fingers through the dresses laid out on my bed, biting my lip in frustration. Nothing looks right. Too simple, too flashy, too tight, too loose. Jemma and Zaya sit on the edge of my bed, legs crossed, soda bottles in hand, watching me with amusement.
"Just pick one, Clary," Jemma teases, taking a sip "It's not like Sir Micah is going to be paying attention to what you're wearing. He’s too busy mourning his dead wife, or… not mourning at all, considering he's throwing a party."
Zaya snorts. "Right? It’s been, what? A few weeks? And already he’s hosting a grand event at his mansion. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s celebrating."
I shake my head, glancing at them through the mirror. "You guys are awful. Maybe he just needs a distraction. People grieve differen
