“How often am I in France, bitch?”

“Actually, I think they use the euro.”

“Okay, euros … Jesus. Those shoes are thirteen hundred U.S. dollars.”

“What about the dress?”

“Umm. Okay, Angel, don’t freak out. It’s four thousand. Not available in stores yet.”

Gabriela quickly walked over to the window and hung the dress on the curtain rod. The women were afraid to touch it. Angel’s heart was skipping beats. “I—”

“Stop right there. Before you argue any more, try it on. Let’s at least see what it looks like.” Gabriela held up a hand. “I’m guessing you don’t have a pair of Spanx. I will be right back.” She darted out the door.

“What about a bra?” Angel called after her, eying the backless dress.

Latisha snorted. “Honey. The designer is a genius. Those crossed strips plump up your titties and cover what needs to be covered. Show the man some skin and maybe he will climb on board.”

“Ugh. I don’t want him on board! I’m certainly not wearing Spanx and going braless to please a man.”

“Girl, you don’t ever do nothin’ to please a man. Usually, I say, ‘Great. You do you.’ But come on, give just a little. Give in to the thirst.”

“Look, Angel.” One of the quieter stylists, who did makeup for wedding parties and was always on point, held out an iPad. “This is the palette and makeup map for your skin color and face shape. I’d love to help with your makeup. Will you let me?”

Gabriela reappeared, dropped the black shapewear into her chair, and clapped her hands. “Hell yes, girls. A makeover!”

Angel tried to wave away the instant buzz in the room, everyone jumping up and down like teenagers at the thought of a makeover. “I have not said I’m going!” she yelled.

Latisha jabbed a straightener at her. “I’ve heard a lot of whiny baby-bitching coming from you. But not an actual no.”

“What? You are high and deaf.”

“Maybe. But whatever was comin’ out of your mouth was not comin’ from your heart. Or you wouldn’t have hauled ass down here in the first place, with your dress and your shoes and your invitation to the ball. So you need help with your hair.”

“Is that a question?”

“No.”

Angel knew she had a point. That, in her heart, she did want to go. The consequence would probably be humiliation when the world found out the truth, but, on the other hand, they would be more focused on Duke than on her. She’d fade back into the background quickly enough. But first, she’d get to dress in haute couture and see some of the most famous people in New York, hopefully from a quiet corner. She could take one night off from reality. She would never have this opportunity again.