Once we've finished eating, we rejoin the others, but something feels off. They're not looking at me—they're all staring at Vince.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, a knot forming in my stomach.
"Yeah, come on, we need to get you some clothes," my dad says, steering me toward the nearest shop.
Jack smirks. "Let's see what suits you best. We have—"
"I'd prefer to pick out my own clothes, thanks," I cut him off, not in the mood for his suggestions.
Jack raises an eyebrow, unfazed. "Yeah, but I have a very good fashion sense."
"I don't doubt that" I reply, "but I prefer comfort over fashion."
"Whatever," he mutters, rolling his eyes as he grabs Charlie by the arm and drags him off somewhere.
My mum sighs, glancing at me with an apologetic smile. "Don't mind him. He's just—"
"A spoiled brat," Vince and I say in unison, earning a surprised look from her
"No, I wouldn't say he's spoiled... just that he's—" my mum stops, nodding in agreement. "Yes, a spoiled brat."
We keep browsing the store, but I'm not finding anything I like. "I don't like any of these clothes. Can we go to Active Gear? I prefer tracksuits."
Mum and Dad exchange a glance, then Dad asks, "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I reply, slightly annoyed.
Mum hesitates before speaking up. "It's just... we're from a high-class family."
I turn to Vince. "Vincent, translate."
He glances at Mum and Dad before answering. "They'd prefer it if you dressed properly—like Mum and Jessie—with the dresses and stuff."
"No, I'm not doing that," I say firmly, crossing my arms.
Xavier steps forward, his gaze sharp. "What's going on?"
Mum sighs, explaining, "Shay wants tracksuits."
Xavier's eyes flicker with irritation. "You haven't seen her grow up. Let her wear what she wants."
Jessie opens her mouth to protest, but Xavier shoots her a glare that shuts her down immediately. "Sorry," she mutters, looking away.
We walk into Active Gear, and the moment I step through the door, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. The bright lights and rows of tracksuits make me feel more at home than any fancy boutique ever could.
Mum hesitates behind me, clearly not thrilled. "Are you really sure you don't want something... more formal?"
I grab a black tracksuit from a nearby rack, my fingers brushing over the soft fabric. "I'm sure," I say, trying not to sound frustrated. "I prefer comfort."
Dad exchanges a look with Mum, clearly still processing everything. "But... we've always expected you to wear something more refined," he says softly, like he's still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that I don't want to live up to their high-class expectations.
"I'm not dressing like Jessie or you," I say, pulling the tracksuit over my arm and heading to the changing rooms. "I'm me, and I want to be comfortable."
Xavier, who's been quiet up until now, watches me with a faint, approving glance. I'm not sure what's going through his head, but I can feel his silent support.
Inside the changing room, I slip into the tracksuit. When I step out, I stand in front of the mirror, seeing the way it fits perfectly, hugging me in all the right ways. It feels like freedom—like I can finally breathe.
Mum looks me up and down, her face tight with concern. "I didn't think you would choose this."
"Yeah, well, I'm not you," I mutter.
Dad doesn't say anything, just watching me as if waiting for something. Maybe for me to change my mind.
Xavier finally speaks, his tone calm, almost amused. "Let her be. She's the one wearing it."
There's a soft approval in his voice that I don't know how to react to. It's one of those moments where, for once, I don't need to explain myself to anyone.
Mum sighs. "I suppose if it makes you happy..."
"It does," I say, feeling a slight flicker of relief.
But then, just before I pay, Mum turns to me, still unsure. "Shay, what if we make a deal?" she says. "How about you get the tracksuits today, but later on today... you try something a bit more like what we had in mind? One dress, just to see how it feels."
I look at her, my heart already sinking at the thought. But then I glance at Xavier, who's standing by the door, his expression unreadable, the dark intensity in his gaze shifting as he looks at me.
He catches my eye, a silent understanding passing between us. He knows how much this means to me—how much standing my ground matters. But I know I don't have to decide now. The dress is for later. And for now, I'm choosing me.
I sigh and nod. "Okay, but I want an iced coffee."
Mum smiles and nods, finally giving in to my choice. Just as I'm about to head to the counter to pay for the tracksuits, Jack walks over with his usual impatient expression. "Are we done yet? I want an iced coffee," he says, tapping his foot.
I roll my eyes but grab a couple more tracksuits off the rack, figuring I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to get more comfortable clothes while I'm here.