The day after the ball, Grandma Ruth declared it shopping day.
Stella hadn’t argued — mostly because she hadn’t known how.
“You cannot keep wearing borrowed clothes,” Ruth said briskly over breakfast, buttering toast with military precision. “And you certainly cannot face society in gowns chosen by committee.”
Stella flushed. “I don’t need much. Just… simple things.”
Ruth gave her a sharp look. “Nonsense. You need appropriate things.”
Kurt, seated at the head of the table with his coffee untouched, watched the exchange silently. When Stella rose to fetch her coat, he stood as well.
“One moment,” he said.
He reached into his jacket and handed her a sleek black card.
“For expenses,” he said evenly.
She stared at it. “Oh — no, I couldn’t—”
“You will,” he said gently, meeting her eye
