“I don’t need something new,” I said softly, running my hand over the cool, heavy silk. “This was Nana’s. She wore it in Paris in the twenties. It’s my lucky charm.”

I held it up against my body. The hem was, admittedly, showing its age. A few tiny threads had come loose, a whisper of fraying that spoke of decades of wear, of jazz clubs and midnight strolls along the Seine. But to me, those imperfections were part of its soul. They were the scars of a life lived fully.

“Besides,” I smiled at him, quoting my grandmother’s favorite maxim, “Simplicity is the keynote of all true elegance.”

David sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He crossed the room and kissed my forehead. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman there, no matter what.”

He believed it. I just hoped the sharks at the Titan Group would be too busy admiring their own reflections in the crystal chandeliers to notice the history teacher in the antique dress.