“It’s called The Fit Collective,” Angi told her. “We met the new CEO. I think he’s a friend of Dylan’s or something.”

“Interesting. I know that brand. They make a quality product, but the founder went off the rails at one point. More out of control than me, even. She made a big deal about being a woman-owned business and then said some awful things about her female clients and whether they actually deserve to wear Fit Collective apparel. Capped off with a tone-deaf remark about needing thigh gap to wear her leggings.”

“Oh, that’s bad.” Angi made a face. “I didn’t hear any of the history.”

“The brand took a hit.” Mariella tapped a finger on her chin. “I guess they’re trying for a new start or at least a second chance. I can appreciate that.”

“Does it give you any ideas?” Angi asked. “You design the most beautiful wedding gowns I’ve ever seen. You made women feel beautiful.”

Mariella’s gaze took on a faraway look. “I liked that part of it. Women should feel beautiful.” She bit down on her lower lip and glanced around before turning to Angi. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ve started making dresses again,” she said quietly, as if the words might echo off the walls if she spoke in a normal tone.

“You’re going back to the fashion business? Your studio in New York City?”

“No,” Mariella said almost aggressively. “I’m a one-woman shop.”

“Is there money in that?” Angi asked.

“Not exactly,” her friend admitted with a frown. “But there’s more satisfaction than I would have guessed. I like designing, but I forgot how much I like the sewing part, as well. My social life isn’t exactly thriving, so working on one dress at a time gives me something productive to do at night.”

“Because vegging in front of the television isn’t an option?”

Mariella shook her head. “Not for me. It’s hard to be still. The only time I was good at it was when I was high or drunk, and I’m not going back there again.”

“Oh, well, I guess that’s a positive.”

“I guess,” Mariella agreed with a harsh laugh. “Not all of us can be as perfect and strong as you.”

Angi made a show of glancing around. “Who are you talking about? I’m not perfect. Far from it. You’ve seen me at some of my worst moments. Hiding behind a door at the inn to avoid my mom. Sneaking out of her house at night even though I’m a grown woman. You have a pretty messed up version of strong and perfect if I’m your benchmark.”

“Maybe perfect wasn’t the right word,” Mariella admitted. “But I stand behind strong. You’re a fantastic mom—”

“Debatable.”

“And a wonderful, dedicated daughter.”

“Did you miss the part about me sneaking around because I’m too cowardly to stand up to my mother?”

“You’re a good person,” Mariella said, her tone going somber in a way that had the little hairs on the back of Angi’s neck standing on end. “I hated you for it at first.”