Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
DIXIE
T he excitement buzzed through me like an electric current as I folded another sundress and tucked it neatly into my suitcase. Frankie sprawled across my bed, legs kicked up, scrolling through her phone in between commenting on my wardrobe choices. The Maldives. I still couldn’t believe this was happening. Tomorrow, I’d be boarding a private jet and heading to paradise with Hayes—or “Paul,” as I was still calling him to keep my little secret.
“Are you seriously packing three pairs of sandals?” Frankie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“They serve different purposes,” I replied, holding up a pair of strappy gold ones. “These are for fancy dinners. The flip-flops are for the beach, and the wedges are for?—”
“Walking around looking cute while pretending not to notice everyone staring at you?” she teased.
“Exactly.” I grinned and tossed the sandals into the suitcase.
Frankie wasn’t the only one who thought I was insane for going on a two-week vacation with a guy I’d only been seeing for a short time. But everything with Hayes felt right. Like I’d finally stumbled into something real and exhilarating. Even if I hadn’t told her he was a Bancroft yet, Frankie was nothing but supportive.
“Still can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she said, leaning back on her elbows. “I envy you. And I’m proud of you.”
“Neither can I,” I admitted. “But my gut says go for it, and I trust my gut.”
She nodded. “You better call me the second you land. And keep your location on. I swear, if you turn up in a true crime podcast?—”
“Frankie!” I threw a balled-up sock at her. She caught it mid-air, laughing.
“I’m just saying! We watch enough murder shows to know better.”
“Paul isn’t a psycho. He could have killed me plenty of times and he has somehow resisted. He’s not a creepy creeper.”
“Better not be.” She glanced at her phone again. Then her eyes lit up as she spotted something in my suitcase. “Oh my God.” Frankie reached in and pulled out a lacy black thong and matching bra. She dangled them between two fingers like they were incriminating evidence. “How much sex do you plan on having on this family trip?”
Heat rushed to my face, and I snatched the lingerie from her hands. “None of your business,” I said, stuffing them back into the suitcase. “But… a lot.”
Frankie burst into laughter. “Seriously, though. Is he that good?”
I sighed dreamily, flopped onto the bed beside her, and let out a contented sigh. “Yes.”
“Oh boy,” Frankie said, smirking. “I hope he hasn’t dick-notized you and he’s actually a loser who’s just good in bed.”
“It’s not just the sex,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow. “He’s accomplished. Professional. He’s got this insane work ethic, but he knows how to have fun too. He’s protective and kind, confident but not cocky, and?—”
“I get it.” Frankie held up a hand to stop me, laughing. “He’s Mr. Right.”
“Sorry. I’ve been talking about him nonstop.”
She shrugged. “Hey, I like seeing you this happy. Just don’t let him sweep you so far off your feet that you forget who you are.”
“Never,” I promised, though I couldn’t help the little smile tugging at my lips. Hayes had been spoiling me over the past two weeks—more than I’d ever been spoiled in my life. We had evening coffee dates at a cozy café, and he insisted on giving me his scarf and gloves during our walks in the chilly spring air. He even took me to a spa for treatments I’d only ever dreamed of. My nails still looked perfect, and my skin practically glowed.
Frankie flipped onto her stomach, propping her chin in her hands. “So when do I finally get to meet this mystery man?”
“Soon,” I said. “After the trip, for sure. We’ll do that double date you’ve been talking about.”
“Good. Because if he turns out to be a loser, I’m kicking his ass.”
I laughed. “He’s not a loser, I promise.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’d better check in with me often while you’re gone. Two weeks is a long time.”
“I will,” I said. “And I mean it—there’s nothing to worry about.”
Frankie helped me finish packing, offering commentary and occasional fashion advice.
“I’ve packed all the cute stuff I have,” I said when she grimaced at the comfortable jeans I tossed in the suitcase.
“You’re going to the Maldives, not McDonalds.”
“I can’t be expected to dress like a queen every day, right?”
I looked at my suitcase and realized I was going to be hanging out with billionaires. I was suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my meager wardrobe. This was why Hayes mentioned he was going to provide bikinis and dresses and so on. He wanted me to fit in. I wasn’t sure if I was offended by that or not.
“You’ll need a wide-brimmed hat,” she said, rummaging through my closet. “And don’t forget SPF 50. Your pale skin burns like paper.”
I laughed. “Yes, mom.”
“I’m serious! Two weeks in the tropics is no joke. And make sure you bring something dressy for at least one fancy dinner. Not that skater dress. A real dress.”
A dressy outfit. Right. I pulled out a midnight blue cocktail dress I’d splurged on last year but never worn. It was elegant without being too formal, with a subtle shimmer that caught the light.
“What about this?” I asked. “Too much?”
“Perfect,” Frankie said, appraising the dress. “You’ll look stunning. Mom and Dad are going to flip when they hear about this.”
“I know. They’re going to have a million questions. ‘Who is this guy? What does he do? How long have you known him?’”
Frankie snorted. “More like, ‘Is he going to support you financially? Does he come from a good family? Will he give us grandchildren?’”
“Exactly,” I groaned. “They’re going to think I’m being reckless. Running off to the Maldives with a guy I barely know.”
“Well, are you?” Frankie raised an eyebrow. “Being reckless, I mean.”
I paused, considering. “Maybe? But it doesn’t feel reckless. It feels right.”
“I’ll cover with the parents,” she said. “And if this ends up being the start of a very good thing, they’re going to be very happy. Hell, maybe you will give Mom that grandbaby she wants.”
I laughed. “Slow down. It’s a vacation.”
“I’ve been seeing my guy for months and our biggest moment was going to a gallery opening,” she said. “You’re skipping a lot of steps here.”
I stopped what I was doing. “Is that bad? Do you think I’m making a big mistake?”
“Relax.” She laughed. “I don’t think you’re making a mistake. I think you’re doing something bold and exciting. When was the last time you did something spontaneous?”
“Never,” I admitted. “I plan everything. Every piece of furniture I restore, every project, every detail.”
“Exactly,” Frankie said. “And this? This is pure adventure. A two-week trip to the Maldives with a guy who seems to really like you. Go for it. Just don’t get taken . We don’t know Liam Neeson.”
I smiled, appreciating her support. “I’m nervous,” I confessed. “I mean, it’s a family trip. What if I’m totally out of my element? What if they don’t like me?”
“From what you’ve told me, this guy seems different. Not stuck up or pretentious,” Frankie said. “And you’re not exactly a wallflower. You know how to handle yourself.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever met the parents this quickly,” I said. “Not that I’ve met many parents.”
“Just promise me you’re going to use that magic soap on your hands before you meet them,” she said.
I held up my hands with the usual paint stains. “I’m not a neanderthal.”
She giggled. “Not completely.”
“You hang out with rich doctors and hospital executives all the time,” I said. “Tell me what to do. I don’t want to humiliate myself and him. I’m assuming it’s not going to be five-star dining, but still. I feel like I’m going to be so far out of my element.”
Frankie leaned forward, her expression serious. “Okay, listen. Rich people have their own language and social codes. First rule: confidence is key. Walk into a room like you belong there, even if inside you’re screaming. Chin up, shoulders back. You smile and pretend you’ve been on tropical vacations a million times. Be comfortable or at least present that you are.”
I laughed. “Easy for you to say. You’re basically a professional networker.”
“True, but I wasn’t born this way. Remember how awkward I was at my first corporate event?”
“You mean when you spilled red wine on that VP’s white shirt?”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me. But here’s what you do: ask questions. Rich people love talking about themselves. Let them do the talking. Show genuine interest. And never, ever look intimidated. Keep the ball in your court. Never let them have it.”
“What if they start talking about investments or yacht clubs?”
Frankie’s eyes sparkled. “Nod. Smile. Say something like, ‘That’s fascinating. What drew you to that particular investment strategy?’ Always deflect back to them. Let them feel like they’re the expert. And never, ever apologize for who you are.”
I nodded, taking mental notes. “So basically, fake it till I make it?”
“Precisely,” Frankie said with a grin. “You’ve restored furniture for high-end clients. You know how to handle yourself. This is no different.”
“Except these are his actual family members,” I pointed out.
“So what? They put their pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. Rich people aren’t aliens.”
I laughed, feeling some of my nervousness dissolve. “You’re right. I can do this.”
“Damn straight you can,” Frankie said, giving me a high-five. “And if all else fails, just smile like you have a secret.”
“I do have a secret. I’m poor.”
She laughed as she got up and stretched. “You’re not poor. You’re a hard-working woman waiting for her big break.”
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“Alright, well, I should get going. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. Remember to call me when you land. And keep that location on!”
“Yes, mom,” I teased and gave her a hug.
Frankie paused at the end of the hall, her face softening. “I just want you to be safe, Dixie. You’re my only sister and best friend. It’s like a double whammy if I lose you.”
“You’re not going to lose me. I’ll be fine.”
She gave me a small smile before heading out.
“He might be my future husband,” I murmured to myself, the thought thrilling and terrifying all at once. “I hope to God he’s not a murderer.”
A throat cleared behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Whirling around, I found my neighbor Margaret standing in the hallway, her ever-present cat tucked under one arm. She wore her usual house robe, her gray hair pinned up in a messy bun.
“Goodness, child,” she said, her voice scratchy but kind. “You’re loud enough to wake the dead.”
“Sorry, Margaret,” I said.
She smirked, her sharp eyes twinkling with amusement. “Heading somewhere fancy, are we?”
“The Maldives,” I admitted, still catching my breath.
Margaret nodded approvingly. “Good for you. Everyone needs a change of scenery now and then.”
With that, she turned and shuffled back into her apartment, muttering something about needing to book her own vacation soon.
Shaking my head, I walked back into my apartment and locked the door. I headed for bed. Tomorrow would be the start of an adventure I’d never imagined for myself. I didn’t want to be dragging ass. I hoped I made a good impression. I liked Hayes. I didn’t want his family to pull him aside and tell him to dump the weirdo nobody with paint under her nails.