Breaking Pointe | Rough Draft

Nine

Nathaniel's pov:

"Absolutely not."

That's what I said.

Thirty times over.

Clearly, it was ignored.

Before I could finish the sentence, Mary Anne had already grabbed my arm and was practically dragging me into the boutique, her eyes sparkling like this was some sort of dress up game.

The shop smelled like perfume and privilege. Everything looked pristine and overpriced, and the second we stepped inside, I knew I was in trouble.

"This'll be fun," Mary Anne chirped, her grip iron-tight around my wrist.

So strong for such a little thing.

I shot her a look. "Define fun."

She ignored me, releasing my wrist only to start rifling through the racks of suits like she was on a mission. Amelia, trailing behind us with a bemused smile, looked like she was enjoying this way too much.

I groaned. "This is torture."

"No," Amelia piped up, crossing her arms as she leaned against the nearest display case. "Torture is watching you show up to the gala in your usual... outfit."

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with my 'usual outfit?'"

Mary Anne and Amelia exchanged a look—the kind of look girls give each other when they're silently agreeing that you're a lost cause.

"Let's just say it's... not quite up to par," Amelia said sweetly, batting her lashes at me. "But don't worry, we're here to save you from yourself."

"How generous," I muttered under my breath, shooting a glance at the door. If I made a break for it now, could I make it before they tackled me?

Probably not.

Mary Anne reappeared, clutching a suit that looked like it cost more than my rent. "Here, try this on!" She shoved it into my hands, and I stared at it like it was some kind of alien artifact.

"Nope." I tossed it back on the rack.

"Come on, Nate," Mary Anne wheedled. "Just one suit. You'll thank us later."

"I doubt that," I muttered, but one look at Amelia, and I could see she wasn't going to let this go either. She had that smirk on her face, the one that said she was thoroughly enjoying watching me squirm.

"You're not scared of a little suit, are you?" she teased, a glint in her eyes.

"Scared?" I snorted. "Please."

"Then what's the holdup?" She raised an eyebrow, daring me. "Or are you just not used to wearing anything that doesn't scream 'I don't care about your rules?'"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little." Her smirk widened. "But if you're going to pretend to be my fake boyfriend at this stupid brunch, you need to at least look the part."

Mary Anne was already pushing me toward the dressing room, grinning ear to ear. "Trust us, Nathaniel. By the time we're done, you'll be practically unrecognizable."

I sighed, defeated, and took the suit from her. "Fine, but if this is some plot to humiliate me—"

Amelia's laugh cut me off. "Oh, sweetie, we don't need a plot for that. You do just fine on your own."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, stepping into the dressing room.

As soon as I was behind the curtain, I could hear them giggling outside like they were plotting my doom. This was turning into some kind of fashion horror movie. I stared at the suit, the sleek fabric, the polished buttons. It wasn't that I didn't know how to wear one—I just hated the way it felt, like I was pretending to be something I wasn't.