Only then did Derick’s eyes drift back to me, as if remembering my existence, and he blurted without hesitation, “You look better.”
Becky playfully slapped his arm, scolding him. “Idiot! You’re supposed to compliment your fiancée at a time like this. You really got no rizz, do you?”
Realizing his blunder, Derick looked at me, a bit embarrassed. I just lowered my gaze, focused on sending a picture of the dress to my parents. Once I got their response, I didn’t bother saying anything more and turned back to the fitting room to change.
When I came out, Becky was pulling Derick into selfies, giggling as he posed in an absurd tuxedo with a dramatic tailcoat. He’d always been averse to dressing up. Even during our shopping trips, he’d never tried on anything, not even once. But now, here he was, fully dressed up, laughing like a carefree teenager.
Four years together, and he wouldn’t even try on clothes for me. So that was it—his so-called “rules” applied only to me. With that realization, I grabbed my purse, ready to leave. Just as I reached the door, Derick called after me.
“Penny, I don’t have all day for dress-fitting. We can’t go to check on another shops.”