Millie strutted down the hallway like she owned it—or at least faked it well enough to convince everyone else. Heads turned. Eyes widened. A hush fell in her wake, followed by bursts of whispered laughter and startled gasps.
Even Alfie, moving with his usual unhurried shuffle, did a double-take so hard he nearly tripped over a potted fern.
She pushed through the kitchen doors just as Clara spun around, clutching a stack of plates. Her jaw dropped, and then she doubled over in laughter.
“Millie! What in God’s name are you wearing?” she wheezed between cackles. “Is this a dare? Did you lose a bet? Please tell me this is a bet.”
Sheila, halfway through buttering toast, turned and froze. “Where did you even get that thing, Amelia?” she asked, brows knitting together. Her voice held a mix o
