Chapter 33

• Lana
• I feel like some curvy, Italian version of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, trapped in the middle of a fantasy I never asked for. Three saleswomen hover around me like flies on trash. Too close. Too eager. Smiling so hard it feels fake. Instead of sneers, they offer champagne.
• Instead of judgment, there are chocolate-covered strawberries on a silver tray. And the strangest part is that I didn’t even have to sleep with Dominic Vance to earn any of it.