Larissa's POV
If someone had told me a year ago that I’d be agonizing over what to wear to brunch with my ex’s mother – who also happened to be my fake husband’s step mother – and her coterie of socialite housewives, I would have laughed in their face and then prompted decided that perhaps they were better off in a psych ward.
But here I was – standing in the middle of my absurdly large closet flanked by three bored dogs and a steadily growing pile of rejected outfits, trying to figure out what the invitation actually meant by garden elegant casual.
Brayden, of course, was no help.
“Wear whatever you want.” He said, calmly lounging on my bed like I wasn’t currently stressing about this.
Tiffany’s brunch invite had come with a follow-up text two days later.
Tiffany: Hello darling. Ca
