“Fine,” I say. “What do I wear?” His tongue glides over his lower lip. He’s looking at me, but his mind is far away at the same time. “The beige dress,” he says, nostrils flaring a little. “Ella will fucking hate that.” “What’s wrong with the beige dress?” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Nothing. That’s why she’ll hate it. When you’re in the beige dress, there’s nothing wrong in the entire world.”
