“I’m sorry, but I’m under very particular instructions not to let you look at the price.”
I stared at her. “Are you serious?”
She smiled. “Come on. Let’s find you some accessories.”
Emma showed me a necklace and a pair of earrings, elegant silver pieces with alternating light blue and white pearls and crystal pendants, far more delicate and beautiful than anything I’d ever worn. She put me in front of a mirror and fastened the necklace while I slipped the earrings in.
It was perfect. The lighter blue of the jewelry was beautifully complemented by the midnight blue of the fabric, and when Emma pulled my hair into a quick bun on the top of my head, I hardly even recognized myself. A pair of matching shoes, and I looked ready for the red carpet.
Walking out of the shop, I tried not to even think about how much money I’d just spent. Daniel wanted me to have these things. That was the important part. A few hundred - or, God forbid, a few thousand dollars were nothing to him in exchange for me having a nice outfit.
My phone went off just as I walked through the door of my apartment. Sighing, I dropped my purchases on the couch and dug it out of my purse. Unknown Name, Unknown Number. I almost let it go to voicemail, but changed by mind at the last minute.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Maddy. How are you?”
“Daniel.” I stopped in the middle of my living room, my heart thudding at the sound of his voice. I’d really been looking forward to a whole weekend of being away from him, avoiding his knowing smiles and deep green eyes and all the things that reminded me of that damn dream. “I just got back from the boutique, actually.”
“Oh, did Emma treat you well?”
“Yeah, once I dropped your name.” I switched the phone to my other ear and picked up the bag, pulling the necklace and earrings out. “She set me up pretty well.”
“Glad to hear it. I’m sorry if she was cold to you at first. They’ve had issues with ‘customers’ who come in without the intention of buying anything, just putting on a little fashion show for themselves and making a mess in their wake.”
“And I looked like one of those people. Yeah, I get it.”
Daniel was silent for a moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure if I was being snarky or not.
“I wanted to ask you if you were free for dinner tonight,” he said, finally.
“Already?” I set the jewelry down. “I thought you meant, like…next week, or something.”
“I’ve been thinking about it since, and I feel it would be best to get things off the ground soon. If you’re free, of course.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say something bitingly sarcastic, but instead, I just said “of course.”
“I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven o’clock.”
“Sure,” I said, hanging up before he had a chance to say goodbye.
I couldn’t explain why I was so irritated. Something about Emma’s demeanor, and his explanation for it, was more than I could stomach. I didn’t want to spend the next year pretending to be something I wasn’t, just to fit in. But I’d already signed the contract.
I sat down heavily on the couch, picking up the sparkling necklace and toying with it gently. Could I get used to this lifestyle? Did I even want to?
I busied myself around the apartment for the rest of the day, vacuuming and dusting and wiping down corners I hadn’t touched since I moved in. My eyes kept drifting over to the bag from the boutique, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about everything that it symbolized. Years of financial freedom. More money than I had ever dreamed of. A new lifestyle. A new life.
When the car pulled up, I was waiting outside, clutching my new black leather purse and trying not to look awkward.
“Forgive me, ma’am, but you look lovely,” said the driver as I climbed in. I had to smile.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Let’s hope Daniel agrees.”
The driver cleared his throat, and I could tell he wanted to say something.
“What?” I prompted, finally.
“Well, I shouldn’t say anything, but…” He met my eyes in the rear view. “I’ve been suspecting there was something going on between you two.”
Been suspecting? How long had the driver even been aware of my existence? I felt a chill run up my spine, but I was afraid to ask the question.
“Well, you’ve got solid instincts,” I said. “Where are we going, by the way?”
“The Inn at Grenarnia,” he replied, in a tone of voice that suggested he’d never set foot in that restaurant himself. I felt like I wanted to scream. I knew the place - they’d been written up in the paper before, with words of high praise for their $250-a-plate tasting menus. How on earth was I supposed to behave naturally in a place like that?