Chapter 9
The BMW glided up the street and stopped at the curb where Dahye was already waiting.
She waved and took a step forward, unsteady in the Christian Louboutin pumps.
Her feet already ached. Plus, it was too hot for leather, and a layer of sweat pooled in between her thighs.
If Bora were there, Dahye would have strangled her.
Hyukjoon was on the phone, but when he saw her, he leaned over the passenger seat to open the door. “Phone,” he mouthed, pressing a finger to his lips. He cast a sideways glance at her and frowned.
“Listen,” he said to the person on the line. “I get what you’re saying. But we’ll have to circle back on this conversation another time. An urgent matter just came up. No, nothing you need to worry about. Call me tomorrow.”
He hung up and dropped the phone in the cupholder. Dahye smiled as he pulled her in for a kiss.
“I’ve never seen this skirt,” Hyukjoon said, his mouth hot against hers.
“Of course you haven’t,” Dahye said. “It’s new. I got it just for tonight. Do you like it?”
Hyukjoon ran his fingers along the edge of the leather, pulling away from her. “I do,” he said, in a way that indicated he didn’t. “But I’m not sure this is the right outfit for a place like Namu.”
“What do you mean?” she asked softly. Heat crept into her cheeks. She stared at her hands.
“I mean, if you want to wear it, that’s fine. I don’t care. But I’d hate for you to be embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry,” Dahye said. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I didn’t know. I would have … chosen a different outfit if I’d known.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I should have explained the dress code beforehand.”
“What should we do?” She gestured toward her clothing, tears bubbling in her eyes. “Is it too late to reschedule? Maybe we can go to Namu another time?”
“Reschedule?” Hyukjoon asked, puzzled. “Why do we need to reschedule?”
“Because it’s already 7:03, and there’s no time for me to go home and change. I don’t want to go if there’s a chance I might embarrass you or make you look bad.”
“You won’t.” He leaned back, arms folded across his chest. “Why don’t we pick something up on the way to the restaurant? That way we don’t have to double back to your apartment.”
“Pick something up?” Dahye asked. She sniffled, feeling pathetic. “Won’t we be too late?”
Hyukjoon shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is your happiness. That’s all I care about.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “How about this. We’ll stop by a store, and you can grab something nice. On me.” He smiled and, without waiting for an answer, began to drive.
Gradually, the old brick and concrete buildings and narrow alleyways gave way to sleek skyscrapers.
They were cruising through Apgujeong now, where glass and steel dominated the cityscape.
Luxury stores peppered each block, and the neon signs blinked at them, casting a warm glow onto Hyukjoon’s face as they passed.
Where were they going? Besides the occasional visit to Starfield Mall, her experiences shopping in Gangnam were limited. She didn’t shop in fancy stores. She didn’t know any of the famous designers; she had never been able to afford them. Feeling lost, Dahye looked around.
Even though it was quickly growing dark, Gangnam was busy.
A schoolgirl stood at a street corner, head bowed.
Her attention was glued to her phone. In her free hand, she lugged a shopping bag half the size of her body.
Behind her, a young couple held hands, though the boy’s face was pinched and unhappy.
The car turned onto a quiet street and rolled into an underground garage. It was mostly empty except for a handful of expensive-looking sports cars.
“Where are we?” Dahye asked. The garage was dimly lit, and there were no markings indicating what kind of place they were visiting.
“You’ll see.”
A valet materialized from the shadows and opened Hyukjoon’s door, bowing low. “Welcome back, sir. It’s good to see you.”
Hyukjoon nodded. “Good to see you, too,” he said easily.
He stepped out of the car and went to Dahye’s side, offering her his hand.
She took it. Briskly, he led her toward the elevator, but before he could press the button, the doors slid open, revealing a woman dressed entirely in black.
Her hair was pulled into a neat little bun, and she bowed so low that Dahye feared her back would break.
“Mr. Jang,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She turned to Dahye. “And you, too, Miss Lee.”
Dahye shook her head. “It’s Park,” she said, her voice hoarse. Hyukjoon frowned.
The woman coughed and gave her an embarrassed smile. “My apologies. I don’t know where my head is at. It’s been a busy day.”
Inside, Dahye stared at the elevator buttons.
There was nothing here, either. No writing.
No signage. She felt strangely inadequate, though she didn’t know why.
The skirt squeaked every time she moved, and in the silence it seemed deafening.
She tried her best to hold still. She decided she would never take Bora’s advice again.
The elevator doors opened, and the sound of classical music flooded Dahye’s ears.
She peered out, stifling a gasp. Whatever she had been expecting …
it wasn’t this. From outside, the building was plain and nondescript, but inside it was tastefully decorated, with white granite floors and high, vaulted ceilings.
Soft light spilled from the brass fixtures hanging above their heads and onto the walls made of veined marble.
Dahye reached out a finger and pressed it against its cool surface.
Eunhye would have loved this, she thought. She took out her phone and snapped a picture to post later tonight to her Instagram story. Then she looked up and saw that Hyukjoon and the woman were waiting for her.
“I thought you were worried about our reservation,” Hyukjoon said, chuckling.
“I was. I am.”
The woman led them into an even more beautiful room.
The focal point was an enormous chandelier with four tiers of sparkling crystals, each one bigger than her two fists put together.
Dahye’s heels sank into the pale pink carpet.
It was like quicksand. She lifted her foot, terrified of falling or spraining an ankle, and Hyukjoon said, “Take them off.” She removed them.
The carpet was plush and soft against her bare feet.
The walls were decorated with Minhwa paintings.
Tigers, birds, and hares stared down at her.
She remembered a story her father had told her about a cunning rabbit that had tricked a gullible tiger into eating stones.
The tiger, thinking the stones to be tteok—rice cakes—had grilled them over a fire before swallowing them whole.
“It’s not about the size of the animal,” her father had said afterward, as Eunhye and Dahye nodded, listening with rapt attention. “It’s about this.” He tapped his index finger against his temple. “And this.” His finger moved down to the left side of his chest.
There were a few shelves with merchandise, but not much.
A row of purses. Jewelry. Shoes. Dazed, she looked around as Hyukjoon plopped down on the couch in the center of the room, putting his feet up on the coffee table.
A bottle of champagne had appeared next to him, along with two flutes.
He poured, then downed the entire glass in one noisy swallow.
Noticing Dahye’s astonishment, he smiled, then burped loudly. “What do you think?”
“What is this place?”
“It’s a private shopping experience for VIP clients.”
“But how does it work? There’s barely anything out here. Do they even have anything I can wear?”
Hyukjoon shrugged. “They keep most of the stock in the back. She’s bringing out a few things. Here, have some champagne. It’s Dom.”
“Dom?”
“Dom Pérignon.” He studied the label. “2012. Not too bad.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what that was but was too embarrassed to ask. She accepted the glass, taking a small sip. The bubbles tickled her throat. Setting the glass down on the table, she said, “Oppa, I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. Breaking something.”
The woman appeared out of nowhere and refilled Hyukjoon’s glass. The champagne hissed. “Don’t worry,” he said, waving his hand aimlessly. “I could buy everything in here a hundred times over. Break whatever you want. I don’t care.”
Dahye flushed. She glanced at the woman’s face, but the woman made no indication she had heard him. “I’ll be back shortly with those dresses,” she said, touching Hyukjoon’s shoulder lightly. Dahye’s stomach clenched. That familiarity between them—why did it make her feel so uneasy?
Moments later, the woman emerged, wheeling out a garment rack. The dresses hanging from it were beautiful. Airy linen and smooth silk in shades of cream and pistachio and blush. Layers of fine Turkish cotton. Dahye picked up the tag on the first dress. There was no price.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “How much is this dress?”
The woman’s face was impassive. “1,450,000 won.”
Dahye inhaled sharply. She touched the second dress, her movements tentative. “And this one?”
“1,385,000 won.”
She let her hand fall and took a step back. “That’s too much,” she stammered. The woman blinked but said nothing. Dahye was surprised to feel Hyukjoon standing right behind her, his arms circling her waist.
“Why are you talking about money right now?” he whispered in her ear.
“It’s too expensive. And when would I have the chance to wear something like this again?” She lowered her voice. “Can’t we just … reschedule? It’s so late. They must have given up our reservation.”
“They’re not giving up our reservation.”
“But—”
“I told you I’d buy whatever you wanted.” He was insistent. Hyukjoon was starting to slur his words, and Dahye looked down and saw that the bottle of champagne was almost empty. Motioning toward the clothes, he said, “Try on the red. It’s pretty. It would look good on you.”
“I can’t.”