He steps over the bag of toys and walks into my closet. “You need to get dressed.”
I follow him, pausing in the doorway. Being in confined spaces with Ivan Pushkin is my undoing, apparently.
“Despite what you think, I have managed to get ready on my own every day of my life up to this point. I don’t need you barging in here and—”
“We have an interview today.” He throws a bright green dress at me and then spins around and digs through my top drawer. “It came up last minute.”
“An engagement announcement.” He turns around, a pale pink strapless bra dangling from his fingers. “Wear this and that,” he says, pointing to the dress. “Nothing else.”
He looks through my shoe options with authority. I would have assumed he’d be lost when it came to women’s fashion, but he quickly dismisses a pai
