Chapter 5 Giulia #2
The girl I see in the mirror when I put on the leather skirt and silk top is a stranger.
My legs look longer, my body more dangerous.
The neckline shows the curve of my breasts in a way that would make my father lock me in my room.
I look like someone who makes her own choices. Someone who takes what she wants.
I look like someone who could walk into that club and own it.
"How's it going in there?" the salesgirl calls.
I open the door, and her eyes widen. "Holy shit. You look incredible."
"It's not too much?"
"Honey, there's no such thing as too much. You look like you could make men lick the floor you walk on." She tilts her head, studying me. "Is this for a guy?"
"No," I say firmly. "It's for me."
I buy the leather skirt, the silk top, the incredibly tight dress, and three other outfits that make me look like someone I've never been allowed to be. The salesgirl helps me find shoes as well—a pair of stiletto heels and thigh-high boots.
"Go break some hearts," she says as I leave. It almost makes me believe I could.
I go to a specialty wig shop next, and pick out an insanely expensive dark auburn option, with thick waves that look natural, and the saleslady helps fit it to me.
She shows me how to secure it properly and make it look like it’s my real hair, and when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.
The next step is a mask. I find two—one that’s black with pearl and gold detailing, and another that’s plain black lace, both of them large enough to obscure a decent amount of the upper half of my face.
I go back to the first store and buy the first dress I see, requesting a larger bag.
Then I put all my purchases in it, so that no one will realize where I’ve been.
By the time I text my driver to pick me up, I have everything I need—except courage.
—
I almost back out a dozen times before Saturday arrives. I lie in bed every night thinking about what I'm actually planning to do. Sneak away from my security. Go to a sex club. Sleep with a stranger. The words sound insane even in my own head.
I'm not this person. I'm Giulia Ciresa, the good daughter who does what's expected. I've never broken a rule that mattered or taken a risk that could actually hurt me.
This could destroy everything.
But then I remember Alessandro's hand on my shoulder, and Luca's cold dismissal, the way he looks through me like I'm not even there. I remember that in six months, I'll be married to a man I don't love, and my first time will be a duty instead of a choice. I know I can't back out.
That feeling is only solidified when Marco comes for dinner the next night, and spends the entire meal talking about his expectations for marriage.
"I believe in traditional roles," he says as he digs into his lamb with gusto. "The wife manages the home, raises the children, doesn’t pry too much into business or what her husband is doing. It’s her job to keep the peace and keep everything around her husband pleasant. I look forward to having a wife who has been raised correctly, who knows her place.”
My father nods approvingly. Romeo looks bored. And all I can hear is Marco telling me, in so many words, how he’s going to own me.
I feel like the walls are closing in, like I can’t breathe. When I go up to my room later, I look at the skirt and mask hidden in the back of my closet, and I imagine not going through with it. I imagine knowing the first and only man to touch me will be Marco, or Enzo, or Alessandro.
I can’t do it. I can’t let that be all I ever have.
At dinner Friday night, I wait for the right moment. My father is in a good mood—some deal went well, I can tell by the way he's relaxed in his chair.
“Papa,” I begin, keeping my voice casual. "I was wondering if I could stay with Liesl tomorrow night. She's in the city for the weekend, and we haven't seen each other since school."
He looks up from his wine. "Liesl Baumann?"
"Yes. She has an apartment in Manhattan now. We were going to catch up, maybe go to dinner."
It's not entirely a lie. Liesl does have an apartment in Manhattan. We did go to school together. The lie is that she's expecting me. But my father doesn't know that.
"That's fine," he says. "Just make sure security knows where you'll be."
"Of course. I'll text you the address."
I excuse myself early, claiming I want to pack for tomorrow.
In my room, I pull out my phone and stare at Liesl's contact. This is the part I've been dreading. If she doesn’t want to see me, or if she’s not in town, I’m not sure what to do next.
Most of my other friends live in their own family mansions outside of the city, not in Manhattan proper.
I call her, my heart pounding.
"Giulia!" Her voice is warm and delighted, and I feel myself relax just a fraction. "Oh my God, I swear I was just thinking about you. How are you?"
"I'm good. Listen, I know this is last-minute, but are you free tomorrow? I'm coming into the city, and I'd love to see you."
"Tomorrow? Yes! Absolutely. Come stay over, we can have a proper catch-up. I've been dying to show you my place."
Relief floods through me. "Are you sure? I don't want to impose—"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'd love to have you. Come whenever, stay as long as you want. We'll order food, it'll be like old times, except we’re old enough to get away with having wine now. I’ll make some of my security go buy it for us."
“That sounds amazing,” I say on an exhaled breath, feeling a hint of guilt that I’m going to sneak out after we go to bed. "I'll see you tomorrow."
When I hang up, I sit on my bed and stare at nothing. This is really happening. Tomorrow, I'll go to Liesl's apartment, I'll spend time with my friend, normal and safe, and exactly what my father expects. And then, when she's asleep, I'll transform into someone else entirely.
I'll walk out of that apartment and into a world where I'm not Dante Ciresa's daughter.
Where I’m not myself… but someone else, someone with freedom, for the first time in my life.
—
Saturday morning, I pack carefully—normal clothes for the visit with Liesl: pajamas, toiletries, everything my father would expect to see if he checked my bag.
Hidden at the bottom, wrapped in tissue paper, are the leather skirt, silk top, and the heels.
The wig is in its protective case with the mask. My hands shake as I zip the bag closed.
At breakfast, Romeo is watching me. It makes me nervous, because he knows me too well. "You're going to Liesl's?" he asks.
"Yes. Just for the night."
"You've been quiet lately. Everything okay?"
I force a smile. "Just tired. School was exhausting, and now all this..." I gesture vaguely, meaning the marriage discussions, the pressure, everything. He nods, but I can tell he doesn't quite believe me. Romeo has always been able to read me better than anyone.
"Have fun," he says finally. "Tell Liesl I said hi."
"I will."
My father barely looks up when I leave. He's already on a call, already distracted by business. The driver loads my bag into the car. One of my father's men settles into the passenger seat—my security for the day. I give them Liesl's address in the West Village, and we pull away from the house.
I watch it disappear in the rearview mirror, and I wonder who I’ll be by the time I come back here. How I’ll feel if I go through with this.
—
Liesl's apartment is exactly what I expected, bright and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a tree-lined street. She opens the door with a squeal, pulling me into a hug immediately. "You look amazing," she says, holding me at arm's length after a moment. "God, I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
My security is standing in the hallway, looking uncomfortable. Liesl glances at him, then at me, understanding immediately.
"I'll be fine," I tell him. "You can wait downstairs. I'll text if I need anything. Tell whoever relieves you the same thing."
He hesitates. "Your father said—"
"I'm staying with a friend in her apartment. What could possibly happen?" I keep my voice light, reasonable. "I'll text you when I'm ready to leave tomorrow."
He doesn't look happy about it, but he nods. "I'll be in the lobby if you need me."
"Thank you."
Liesl closes the door behind him, and suddenly we're alone. "Security?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug. "My father's paranoid."
"I mean, given who your father is..." She trails off, grinning. "Come on, I'll give you the tour."
The apartment is beautiful. Liesl shows me around, chattering about her job at an art gallery, about the guy she's been seeing, and life in the city. As the daughter of a Swiss billionaire, she has much more freedom than I ever will. She’s an heiress with very little responsibility, and I’ve often been jealous of her for it, although I try not to be.
I listen and smile and try to be present, but part of my mind is already racing ahead to tonight.
"You okay?" Liesl asks, studying my face. "You seem distracted."
"Just tired," I lie. "It's been a lot lately."
"Your father's still pushing the marriage thing?"
"He's making his decision within the month."
"Jesus." She pours us both generous glasses of wine. "That's medieval."
I manage a small, wry smile. "That's my life."
We settle on her couch, and for a while, it's almost normal.
We talk about school and mutual friends.
Liesl orders Thai food, and we eat straight from the containers, laughing about teachers we hated.
She tells me about her new job and the artists she's working with, and the freedom of living alone in the city.
I listen and ache with envy. This is what I want. This independence, this choice, this life that's hers and no one else's. But I'll never have it. In a month, I'll be engaged. In six months, married. And this kind of freedom will be nothing but a memory.
"You're doing it again," Liesl says. "Going somewhere in your head."
"Sorry. I'm just..." I search for words. "I'm just trying to figure out how to be okay with everything."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You don't have to be okay with it. It's not okay."
I wince, squeezing her hand back. "But I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice, Giulia. Even if all the options are terrible."
I think about the mask in my bag. About the club and the choice I'm about to make.
"Yeah," I say softly. "I guess there is."
We watch a movie—some romantic comedy that Liesl loves, and I can barely focus on. Around eleven, Liesl yawns. "I'm exhausted. Do you mind if we call it a night?"
"Not at all. I'm tired too."
She shows me to the guest room. "Bathroom's across the hall. Help yourself to anything you need. I'm really glad you're here. We should do this more often."
"We should." If I'm not ruined by tomorrow, I think. If I still have a life to come back to.
She closes the door, and I'm alone.
I sit on the bed and listen to her moving around in her room. The sound of water running, drawers opening and closing. Eventually, everything goes quiet.
My hands are shaking as I pull the clothes from my bag.
The leather skirt feels sinful against my fingers.
The heels make me taller, more confident.
I put on a lace bra and panties under all of it, tucking in the silk blouse.
I put on the wig in front of the small mirror, securing it the way the shop owner showed me.
My face transforms—the auburn hair makes me look older, more sophisticated.
More like someone who belongs in that club.
I tuck the mask into my clutch bag, next to some cash and the black membership card. No phone. Nothing that could be traced back to me.
The apartment is dark and silent as I slip out of the guest room. I can hear Liesl's soft breathing from her bedroom, steady and deep. She's asleep. I move through the living room like a ghost, careful not to make a sound. My heart is pounding so hard I'm surprised it doesn't wake her.
The front door is the tricky part. I unlock it slowly, wincing at every small sound. The hallway beyond is empty—no one to see me leave.
But Carlo is downstairs. In the lobby. Waiting.
I take the back service stairs instead of the elevator, my heels clicking softly on the concrete. At each landing, I pause, listening for any sound of pursuit.
Nothing.
The building has a service entrance in the back. I push through the door and find myself in an alley, the cool night air hitting my face. I'm out.
I'm actually out.
I walk quickly to the street, my heart racing. A cab is passing, and I flag it down before I can change my mind. "Tribeca," I say, giving him the address. "The warehouse district."
He doesn't ask questions, doesn't even look at me twice. Just nods and pulls away from the curb.
I watch Liesl's building disappear behind us, and I feel something loosen in my chest. I did it. I actually did it.
Now I just have to follow through.
The drive takes twenty minutes, and I spend every second of it spiraling. What am I doing? This is insane. I should tell the driver to turn around, should go back to Liesl's apartment, and forget this ever happened.
But I can’t. This might be reckless and dangerous, and definitely the stupidest thing I've ever done. But it's mine. This choice, this night, this moment—it's all mine.
I'm so tired of nothing being mine.
The city lights blur past the window, and I focus on breathing, staying calm.
Not letting the fear win. The driver pulls up to an address in Tribeca—an unmarked building that looks like any other warehouse conversion.
There's no sign, no indication of what's inside.
Just a single door with a discreet camera above it.
"This is it," the driver says. I slip the mask on and then pay him in cash, and step out onto the sidewalk, my legs shaking.
This is it. This is the moment where I either go through with this or I don't.
I look up at the building, at the camera watching me, at the door that leads to something I can't take back. I adjust my mask, making sure it's secure. Making sure I'm hidden.
The girl in the reflection of the building's dark windows is a stranger—beautiful and free. She's everything I've never been allowed to be.
I take a breath, and then another, and then I walk toward the door. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking. Every instinct is screaming at me to run.
But I don't run.
I reach for the door handle, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that everything is about to change. After tonight, I'll never be the same. This is the moment my life splits into before and after.
I pull the door open and step inside.