Page 40 of From LA to London, With Love

“That would be great if Jenny could help pick something out, but I can pay for it myself.”

I smiled to myself. I loved Sophie’s independence, but there was no way I’d let her pay for the dress. I doubted she realized just how much a red-carpet-ready dress would cost.

“Come on, I insist on paying for it. I’m the one inviting you to an event where an overpriced, will-probably-never-wear-again dress is called for.”

Sophie put up a fight about me paying for the dress, but I eventually convinced her. I hung up feeling much better. Hearing Sophie’s voice and Alfie and Elliot in the background had a calming effect on me.

I dragged myself to bed, exhausted, but as I was about to turn off the bedside lamp, my phone lit up. It was a news alert I’d set on my name—probably not the best idea for my mental health, but I wanted to know what other people were reading about me.

“Chris and Clare Caught Getting Cozy On Set.”

I groaned and clicked on the link. The article had photos of Clare and I kissing and holding hands, taken when we were filming. There was even one of me under Clare’s dress while I tried to disentangle Alfie. According to the article, “sources close” to me claimed Clare and I were having a whirlwind romance after hitting it off on set. Just what I needed. The media circus was never-ending.

CHAPTER TWENTY

SOPHIE

“SO, THE “T-REX” is a popular one. You bend your arms like a T-Rex—pretend you’re holding a tiny clutch—but don’t be too rigid. This way, you have something to do with your hands, and you can show off your bracelets or rings.” Jenny stopped suddenly on the sidewalk, much to the annoyance of a man walking behind her, and struck a pose, her elbows pointing out and her hands touching like a T-Rex just under her belly button.

People slowed down, staring at her and giving her a wide berth, but she continued to pose, unfazed.

Oh god. What had I gotten myself into? Rings? Bracelets? I was not into jewelry. I might have a bracelet somewhere…but I couldn’t pose like a dinosaur without being laughed off the red carpet. I hadn’t thought about having to pose for photos, until Jenny started giving me lessons on busy Oxford Street on our way to find a dress. Now I worried I’d wake up on Sunday morning to more tabloid articles about me and Chris—not what I needed when I was trying to get over him—and they would probably all be about his date’s strange poses.

Jenny must have sensed prehistoric posing wasn’t my thing.

I winced as she stopped walking again, and a group of teenagers almost crashed into her.

“The ‘look back’ is a classic.” She turned her body and then shot me a coquettish look over her shoulder.

“I don’t have the confidence to pull that one off either,” I said, shaking my head and laughing at the same time.

“Well, how about the good old ‘hand on hip’ pose. Shoulders back, elbow bent, hand on hip, like so.” Jenny slapped a hand on her hip, stuck her elbow out—nearly taking out a young woman walking by in the process—and pouted. “Simple, elegant, timeless.”

“Okay, that I can do.”

“Great! I’m glad we got that sorted because we’re here. Ready to find your perfect dress?”

A doorman dressed in a suit opened a gold door, and we stepped into a palatial-looking designer clothing store, McKinnon. Jenny assured me this was the place to find a red-carpet-ready dress. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling, gold wall panels gleamed, and marble tiles added to the luxurious feel. A poised shop assistant, wearing a black suit and dark brown hair pulled tightly back into a ponytail, approached. She looked us up and down and gave us a stiff smile. I immediately regretted wearing my second best pair of jeans and scuffed flats on this shopping expedition. McKinnon was a world away from H&M or GAP, which is where I got most of my clothes.

“Can I help you?”

Jenny, unperturbed by the shop assistant's disapproval, smiled. “We’re looking for a dress for my friend to wear to the film premiere of Muscle Man 4 tomorrow night. She’ll be in lots of photos, so we want her to look smoking hot.”

Lots of photos? My chest tightened at the thought.

The shop assistant’s forced smile disappeared and was replaced with a genuine one. Perhaps Jenny’s comment about the premiere made her realize we hadn’t walked into a high-end boutique by mistake on our way to Primark.

“We can certainly help with that! Now, would you ladies like some champagne?”

“Yes, please,” Jenny said, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

I shook my head. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of this shop assistant by getting tipsy.

While the assistant poured Jenny’s champagne, I browsed through a nearby clothing rack. A plain white silk shirt caught my eye. It didn’t look bad—I could picture myself wearing it when I returned to work. I flicked the tag over to see the price, and my heart skipped a beat. £875. I stepped back and bumped into the pram. Was that a typo? Maybe it was £87.50. I surreptitiously checked the price tag of some other shirts. Nope, they were all between £500 to £1,000. Shit. If a plain shirt cost that much, how much were the dresses?

Chris sounded so miserable on the phone that I agreed to attend the premiere without thinking it through. Now I was having serious second thoughts. Spending thousands of dollars on a dress, even if it wasn’t my money, made me feel uncomfortable. Even being in this store made me feel uncomfortable. And I hated to think how uncomfortable I’d feel tomorrow night on the red carpet. I did not like being the center of attention.

I’d hoped Chris might retract his invitation now that it was all over the news that he was dating Clare, but he hadn’t. That would have been one good thing to come out of the news. The fact I’d been right about Chris and Clare wasn’t making it any easier to deal with. Maybe they were still trying to keep a low profile. I took a deep, fortifying breath. As much as I was dreading the whole thing, I’d told Chris I’d come so I couldn’t pull out now. Resigned to my fate, I walked over to Jenny, who was pulling dresses off racks with enthusiasm.