Vivian
I leaned my head back against the leather seat and shut my eyes.
Thank God I brought my own car.
If I had to sit one more minute in that woman’s suffocating cloud of perfume while she raved about “timeless elegance,” I might have lost what little patience I had left.
The driver adjusted the rearview mirror slightly, probably because I sighed too loudly. I didn’t care.
In the back seat beside me were several shopping bags Nathan’s mother insisted I take.
I glanced at them with mild disgust.
Who even wore outfits like that anymore?
Over-embellished dresses. Heavy fabrics. Jewelry that screamed wealth instead of whispering it. Everything chosen not because it was beautiful — but because it was expensive.
Women like her didn’t buy taste.
They bought price tags.
And then they
