Sublime

“Holy shit,” said Naomi. “Jules, you look like a thirty-thousand-dollar hooker. You look fantastic. We are going to get a million free drinks tonight. That skirt is like a Burmese penis trap.”

Pearls would become Belle’s signature accessory. She wore them as a long rope, circled around her neck once or twice, with a third loop that hung far down in front, finished with a glittering ruby or two.

Nova Porter is walking toward me like she can’t decide if she wants to dance with me or tear me limb from limb. Storm cloud eyes. Dark blond hair twisted in a low messy bun. A dress that was either made in my dreams or my nightmares. It shimmers as she walks, a soft gray material that looks like it would slip through my fingers like water. Plunging

“And what self-respecting person wears that much glitter? Unironically?” “I like glitter—” “No, you don’t,” she growls. I can only nod. Okay. Don’t like glitter anymore.