Valeria laughed. “That’s one way to describe a dress.”
You opened your wallet and flicked out several small bills. You tossed them toward the trash can near Mariana’s cart. The bills fluttered down like an ugly little snowfall.
“Here,” you said. “For dreaming privileges. Because admiring something doesn’t mean you belong anywhere near it. Someone like you could scrub floors for ten lifetimes and still not afford one button.”
Valeria laughed louder this time. A few nearby shoppers turned to look.
Mariana didn’t bend for the money.
She didn’t answer right away either. She just looked at the dress again, and there was something so unreadable in her face that for one absurd second you felt your confidence wobble. Then she turned back to you.
“Not everything valuable is meant to be bought by the person staring at it,” she said quietly.
You smirked. “Still talking in riddles. That was always your problem. No urgency. No edge.”
“No,” she said. “That was always yours.”
The sentence landed with more force than its volume should have allowed.
