Chapter 2
MELODY
“What about this one?” I asked, stepping out of the fitting room in a flowing royal blue dress that glossed over some of my curves while highlighting the ones I liked to show off.
My butt and boobs. Those were good curves.
The fabric felt like silk against my skin, and the color made my hazel eyes pop.
Cleo looked up from where she was perched on the velvet settee, her purple hair catching the boutique’s soft lighting. She immediately raised her phone and clicked.
I sighed. “I didn’t tell you to take a picture yet.”
“I wanted to see what it would look like in photos,” she said. “You know how colors change.”
“Can you look with your eyes?”
“Yes.” She continued snapping photos. “Turn slightly to the left. Perfect. Now give me that over-the-shoulder look you do so well.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I struck the pose.
This was our routine. Cleo had turned it into an art form.
She had an eye for capturing me at my best angles, knowing exactly how to position me so the light hit just right.
She and her camera phone knew how to make my curves look like the blessing they were instead of something to hide.
After three years of working together, she could read my body language better than I could.
“The color is incredible on you,” Cleo continued, moving around me to get different shots. “And the way it flows when you move? Your followers are going to die.”
I did a little twirl, watching the skirt billow around my legs. The dress was gorgeous, but something felt off. Too formal, maybe? “I don’t know. Do you think it’s too much for a wedding where I’m just a guest?”
“Babe, you’re never just a guest anywhere.
You’re Melody Stephens.” She lowered her phone for a moment, fixing me with that direct stare that brooked no argument.
“And Sophie Plume’s wedding is going to be the event of the season.
The guest list leaked, remember? Everyone knows you’re going to be there. ”
Right. The guest list. Sometimes I forgot how public my life had become. When your every move was documented and discussed by thousands of people online, privacy became a luxury you couldn’t always afford.
“Besides, this is Sophie we’re talking about. Little Miss Perfect herself. You know she’s going to look like she stepped out of a fairytale.”
I sighed, thinking about Sophie Plume, my old friend who’d somehow managed to remain New York’s perpetual “girl next door” despite being worth more than some small countries.
Petite, blonde, absolutely stunning, and so charming that even people who should hate her for her privilege couldn’t help but adore her.
She was marrying Dr. Gideon Webb, a plastic surgeon who looked like he had stepped off the cover of a romance novel.
“I still can’t believe she’s actually getting married,” I mused, smoothing the dress over my hips. “I remember when we used to talk about our dream weddings during sleepovers. She wanted a princess theme with a castle.”
“Well, she’s getting pretty close,” Cleo said, snapping another photo as I adjusted the neckline. “The Plume family literally built their own wedding venue on their estate grounds. Did you see the pictures in Manhattan Society?“
I had seen the pictures, and they were breathtaking. Rolling lawns, an actual gazebo overlooking a lake, gardens that likely required an entire army of staff to keep up. It was the kind of venue that made every wedding Pinterest board look amateur.
“So many photo opportunities,” I said, half to myself.
As much as I genuinely wanted to celebrate Sophie’s happiness, I couldn’t deny that her wedding would be incredible content.
My followers loved behind-the-scenes glimpses into high society events, especially when I could share styling tips and fashion insights.
“That’s my girl, always thinking like a businesswoman.” Cleo grinned. “Now try on the navy one. I have a feeling about it.”
I headed back into the fitting room, carefully stepping out of the blue dress.
The boutique was one of my favorites in the city.
It was a high-end custom plus-size store that understood that glamorous fashion came in all sizes.
The owner, Maria, had become a friend over the years, and she always set aside pieces she thought would be perfect for me.
The navy dress was completely different from the royal blue—sleek, sophisticated, with delicate beading along the bodice that caught the light when I moved. The moment I put it on, I knew it was the one.
“Cleo,” I called out, stepping back into the main area of the boutique.
She looked up from her phone and her jaw literally dropped. “Holy shit, Mel. That’s it. That’s definitely it.”
The dress fit like it had been made specifically for my body.
The color complemented my sandy blonde hair beautifully, and the cut emphasized my waist while flowing gracefully over my hips.
I felt elegant, confident, and most importantly like myself.
The bodice had rouching that angled toward my left hip, giving the illusion of an hourglass figure.
There was just enough cleavage to be sexy, but not so much to be deemed inappropriate for a wedding.
“The beading is gorgeous,” I said, running my hands over the intricate details. “And it photographs well?”
“Are you kidding? You look like a goddess.” Cleo was already moving around me, capturing every angle.
“This is going to be perfect for the wedding. Sophisticated enough to show respect for the occasion, but stunning enough that you’ll hold your own among all those society queens.
” She brought her phone close to the bodice and snapped a picture of the beadwork.
“I’m going to tease your socials with a little sneak peek. They can wait for the whole look.”
I smiled, doing another turn. This felt right. Not too flashy, not too understated. Just perfect for watching my old friend marry the love of her life while trying to navigate the complex social dynamics of New York high society.
“I just wish you could come with me,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Cleo’s expression softened. “I know, babe. But personal assistants aren’t plus-ones to these kinds of events. Besides, you’ll be fine. You always are.”
She was right, of course. I’d been attending events solo for years now, building my brand and my reputation one carefully curated appearance at a time.
But sometimes I got tired of always being on duty.
It was exhausting constantly thinking about how I looked and what message I was sending.
It would be nice to have my best friend there to make sarcastic comments and keep me grounded.
“You’ll get all the behind-the-scenes content when I get back,” I promised. “Every detail.”
“I’m counting on it. Now go change so we can get this beauty paid for and get out of here. I’m starving, and there’s a new brunch place I want to try.”
I was just stepping back into the fitting room when I heard Cleo gasp.
“Oh my God, Mel! You need to see this!”
“What?” I called out, struggling with the dress’s hidden zipper.
“Austin Bancroft is trending again. This is unbelievable.”
I paused in my undressing. Austin Bancroft.
Now there was a name that showed up in my social media feeds with alarming regularity.
The guy was a walking scandal, always photographed stumbling out of clubs with different women, making headlines for his latest outrageous behavior.
He was the kind of person who gave wealthy people a bad name.
Tone deaf. Obnoxious. Above consequences, apparently.
“What did he do this time?” I asked, finally managing to get the dress off and slip back into my regular clothes. “Bang a married model? Fall off his own yacht?”
“Worse,” Cleo said, her voice filled with the kind of glee she reserved for particularly juicy gossip. “Just listen to this.”
I emerged from the fitting room to find her holding her phone out toward me, her finger hovering over the play button.
“Someone leaked a voice recording,” she explained. “He called a reporter this morning.”
The recording started, and I immediately recognized Austin’s voice—deeper than I’d expected, with that slight rasp that suggested too much drinking and not enough sleep. But it was what he was saying that made my jaw drop.
“I’m just happy to keep spending their money.”
I grimaced as the recording ended. “Ouch. That’s… wow.”
“Right?” Cleo shook her head in amazement. “I mean, we all know he’s a mess, but saying it out loud to a reporter? Even accidentally? That’s next-level stupid. And what does he mean, ‘their’ money? Like he’s not one of them?” She shook her head. “The delusion of these billionaire asshats.”
I took the navy dress and headed toward the register, my mind spinning. Austin Bancroft was always in trouble. Armand Bancroft, Austin’s father, was not known for his patience with public embarrassment.
“What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when Armand Bancroft hears that recording,” I muttered as we got in line behind another customer.
Cleo shuddered dramatically. “God, can you imagine? I wouldn’t want to be on the bad side of a Bancroft for anything.” She paused, then gave me a wicked grin. “Under one, though? That’s a different story.”
I felt heat rise in my cheeks at her comment. I playfully swatted her arm. “Cleo!”
But her words hit closer to home than I wanted to admit.
My romantic life had definitely taken a backseat while I built my brand.
Dating was complicated when you were a public figure.
Every relationship became fodder for speculation.
But it was the breakups that I hated the most. They were analyzed and dissected by strangers on the internet.
Everyone trying to figure out who was to blame.
Like, hello, can’t two people just decide they don’t want to date? Are we supposed to have coffee with someone and decide we’re going to be together forever?
I actually enjoyed my independence. Still, as successful as my business had become, sometimes I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.
It would be nice to have someone to share all this success with.
Someone to come home to after a long day of photoshoots and meetings.
Someone to celebrate the victories with and comfort me through the inevitable setbacks.
Someone who would welcome me with a hug and a kiss and the promise of a warm bed where I could just be myself, not the carefully curated version of myself I presented to the world.
I stepped forward and placed the dress on the counter, pushing thoughts of loneliness aside. I had built an amazing life for myself, one that helped other women feel confident and beautiful in their own skin. That counted for something.
“Beautiful choice,” the cashier said, carefully wrapping the dress in tissue paper. “Special occasion?”
“A wedding,” I replied, sliding my credit card across the counter. “Should be quite the event.”
As I waited for the transaction to process, I found myself thinking about the upcoming announcement.
Tomorrow night, the day before Sophie’s wedding, my collaboration with a major fashion brand would finally go public.
It was something I’d been working toward for months, my own line designed specifically for plus-size women who wanted to look and feel amazing.
Fashion had given me a sense of purpose I’d never expected.
Growing up, I’d struggled to find clothes that fit properly, that made me feel beautiful instead of like I was trying to hide my body.
Now I had the platform and the resources to change that for other women, to show them that style and confidence weren’t limited by size.
The cashier handed me my bag with a smile. “Have a wonderful time at the wedding.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Cleo and I stepped out onto the sidewalk.
I immediately took a deep breath of the warm spring air.
This was my favorite time of year in New York, when winter finally loosened its grip and the city came alive again with possibility.
The trees were just starting to bud, and there was an energy in the air that made everything feel fresh and new.
And this spring? I was on the verge of something big, balancing on the edge of whatever waited for me on the other side of this brand launch.
With luck and support from my online besties, this launch might propel my business to the next level.
And maybe, just maybe, it would also send me into the arms of someone who loved all of me for me. Like I had learned to do.
I draped my arm around Cleo’s shoulder as we started walking toward the brunch place she’d mentioned. “Poor Bancroft billionaires,” I said with mock sympathy. “There’s no way they’re having as good of a day as we are, huh?”
Cleo beamed at me, her many rings catching the sunlight as she gestured enthusiastically. “We get to shop for a living, babe. Nobody is having as good of a day as we are.”