The mall was crowded in the way it always was in the middle of the day. Too many people. Too much noise. Music humming faintly from speakers overhead, mixed with chatter and footsteps and the occasional laugh that carried too far.
Ivy walked a few steps ahead of me, already focused, phone in hand, scrolling through store directories like this was some kind of mission.
"Okay," she said, stopping abruptly and turning to face me. "We're doing this properly. No rushing. No panic-buying."
"I'm not panic-buying," I said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You signed a marriage contract yesterday. You're panic-breathing."
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She wasn't wrong.
We started with dresses. Ivy pulled things off racks with purpose, barely looking at the price tags. She held them up against me, stepped back, squinted, shook her head, then moved on.
"That one's ugly."
"That one looks like it's trying too hard."
