"You're wearing that?" Bailey asks, eyeing my jeans and sweater.
"What's wrong with this?"
"Nothing, if we were going to a bonfire." She's already in my closet, rifling through hangers. "We're going to Marcello's. It's nice. Kael made reservations."
"Since when do we need reservations for dinner?"
"Since your Beta decided we should all go out like civilized people instead of eating pack house food for the thousandth time." She emerges with a black dress I forgot I owned. "This. Now."
Twenty minutes later, I'm in the dress—fitted, hitting mid-thigh, with long sleeves that somehow make it feel elegant instead of casual. Bailey did something to my hair that makes it look intentionally messy instead of just messy. And I'm wearing heels.
Actual heels.
"I'm going to break my ankle," I mut
