“It’s not that, sweetheart,” I reply, standing and gently cupping her face. “But women like shopping with other women. Scarlett will be more helpful than I would be—honestly, even my nanny has better fashion sense than I do,” I say, remembering all the sleepwear she bought Giselle.

I shake my head to push away the images of the dreams I’ve been having about her—especially with those nightgowns she wears—and refocus on the conversation.

“Pick whichever dress you like. I’ll ...