23. Liz
Chapter Twenty-Three
LIZ
It’s been a long time since I got such a solid night of sleep. Perhaps it was the wine, or good laughs with good people, or was it. . .? No, I can’t bring myself to admit that I might sleep better next to a good man. So I won’t.
Not that this good man is anywhere to be found. The row of pillows splitting the bed in two remained in place the entire night. Now Kent’s side of the bed is empty. I reach over and run my hand along the sheets where he slept and feel a longing that I haven’t felt in forever. It’s like I miss him.
Do I?
Oh, crap. I think I do.
Uh-oh, that can’t be good. I shake my head and rub my eyes like it’ll wake me out of my Kent haze. Better but not cured by any stretch.
After I brush my teeth, I wander out and peek into Kent’s office. Dash is gone. I creep over to the main room toward the Christmas tree and gaze out the window, taking in the gorgeous London waterview. All through the penthouse, not Bonnaire is stirring, not even Dahlia.
Where is everyone?
Back in the bedroom, I grab my phone and text Kent.
LIZ
Off to the office already?
It’s seven in the morning but the man makes me look like a lazy bum. A second later, my phone rings. It’s Kent.
“Hey,” I answer. My nerves jumble, hands quivering.
“Good morning, Darling,” he says.
As much as I want to tell him, again, to stop calling me that, I allow it, and my cheeks warm as a smile spreads across my face.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Looks like the two of us kept our word last night,” he says, and I glance at the unmade bed again.
“It does.”
“Told you, you could trust me.” That remains to be seen, but so far we’re heading in the right direction. “Sorry I left without saying goodbye. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome. Anyway, Dash and I left early to get in a game of squash before work.”
“See, I knew you were a squash guy,” I say and he laughs. “I wish you had a home gym here.”
“There’s a gym in the building. Did I not tell you?” he asks.
“No.” I begin to perk up. If I could just get on the treadmill for twenty minutes, I’d feel even more amazing than I do now.
“Apologies. I’ll text you the code to get in.”
“I appreciate that. I think I’ll work from here again today,” I say, counting the days to the weekend.
“Good idea. Don’t forget about the pitch meeting later this afternoon,” he says.
“Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He’s quiet for a moment, and the silence makes my pulse quicken. “I thought about what you said last night.”
My mind goes back to our little conversation between the pillows, and what I told him about my ended engagement. I glance down at the diamond on my finger. “About what?”
“The ballet. I think it’s time I go. And I’d like you to come with me.”
A small sense of pride wells inside of me. Sounds like a big step for him. “Of course,” I say, committing to my role as his fake fiancée but also agreeing on my own terms. “I just don’t know when I’m going to find time to buy a dress.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered,” he says. What does that mean?
“Do you have a closet of women’s clothing somewhere in this penthouse for all your lady loves?” I roll my eyes as the words roll off my tongue.
“Heavens, no.” He laughs. “Oh, Liz, I have to go. Let me know how the meeting goes later.”
“Okay.” And with that, he ends the call but I have a message waiting from him. It’s the gym code with a GIF of a woman dressed in a Santa suit running on the treadmill. I giggle as I heart the message, then immediately grab my sneakers.
After a much needed workout at the gym, I arrive back at the penthouse. The scent of cinnamon and savory bacon fills the space, and my stomach growls. Mmm. I walk into the kitchen and find Dahlia with her chunky knit sweater sleeves rolled up, standing over the range with a spatula in hand.
“Morning, Liz!” Dahlia says. “You hungry?” She points to the two plates respectively piled high with French toast and what looks like thick English-style bacon.
After that run, I definitely worked up an appetite. “That sounds amazing. Thank you.”
”Sure thing!” Dahlia turns off the stove and serves me up a plate. She offers me a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and we sit down together at the marble island.
I lightly pour syrup over the steaming meal and take a bite. “Mmm, this is so good.”
“Thank you.”
“So seriously, maybe I should marry you instead.”
She laughs. “Nah, I wouldn’t want you to break Kent’s heart.” I doubt he’s capable of such a thing. “So what are you up to today?”
“I have a meeting later this afternoon. I’ll probably work in Kent’s office until then. You?”
She swallows a bite of her food. “I think I’m going to pack up and head to Mick’s. Get an early start on the holiday weekend.”
“Really?” I ask, both surprised and somewhat hopeful. It would be nice to get the guest room back. Though, last night’s arrangements weren’t bad once I got used to the idea.
“Yeah, you two just got engaged. I’m sure you’d like some privacy so you don’t have to be so quiet. I haven’t heard a peep out of that bedroom the entire time I’ve been here.” That’s because we haven’t done anything noise-generating in there.
Things are looking up, but I hate thinking she feels unwelcome. Now that I’m starting to get used to her anyway. So I offer a polite, “You don’t have to do that.”
She arches her dark eyebrow. “Yes, I do. But I hope we can still get to know each other over Christmas.”
“I’d like that,” I say, wondering if I’ll ever see Dahlia again after I go back to California.
She picks up a crispy slab of thick bacon. “So, are you two coming to the ballet tomorrow night?”
I smile with anticipation for the ballet. “Yes, we are.” There it goes again. We. But we are going to the ballet as long as Kent doesn’t back out last minute.
“Ah! I’m so excited. You’re going to love it. It’s always a magical night. Last year, it started snowing when we left. You know we never see snow in California.”
I would love to see snow this year. “That does sound magical.”
After breakfast, Dahlia heads back to her side of the penthouse to pack while I hold up in Kent’s home office with another cup of coffee and my laptop on display. There’s something about working undisturbed on London time when everyone else back home is still sleeping. I like it.
With a full belly from breakfast, I work through lunch, grinding away on task after task and sending emails back and forth with Kent’s team.
I’m so deep in the zone that I hardly register the sound of the doorbell.
But I can’t ignore it too long because soon there’s a knock on my door, pulling me completely out of my task.
It’s Dahlia. “Something just arrived for you.”
“For me?” I ask, then remember that I asked my team to send me a SOLIDS shirt and tie combo for Kent to wear. “Is it a package?”
Dahlia makes a face. “Not exactly. Come on.”
I follow Dahlia down the hall and into the main room. Poppy, Kent’s white-haired assistant waits along with a very stylish woman with a bobbed haircut, bangs, and a pair of glasses. Behind them stands what looks like a rack of individually wrapped garments flanked by two other young women.
“What’s all this?” I ask, glancing at all of their faces.
“Mr. Bonnaire sent us to assist you with finding a gown for the ballet tomorrow evening,” Poppy says. “We know you’re too busy to go shopping, so we brought the dresses to you. This is Kent’s personal shopper, Estelle.”
“Pleasure,” the woman with the glasses says with a posh accent and extends her hand.
“Hi,” I say. Kent has a personal shopper?
Of course, he does. And now he’s sending her straight to me so I don’t have to lift a finger to find a dress?
Wow. If I’m getting the Cinderella treatment for being his fake fiancée, I can only imagine the perks of being his true betrothed.
I have to admit, it’s a really thoughtful gesture.
“So this is the woman who’s bewitched Mr. Bonnaire?” Estelle remarks, looking me up and down.
“Now do you understand why?” Poppy offers and sends me a wink.
Estelle’s gaze falls to my hand, and her eyes grow as wide as her lenses.
“Well, it’s a good thing we brought only the best designers.
You’ll need an elegant gown to go with that opulent diamond.
” The two younger women standing near the rack gasp, and the rest of us turn our heads.
“Oh, don’t mind them. Those are my interns, Naomi and Margot.
Girls, don’t gawk at the woman,” she calls back to them, and the two jump before looking away. “Shall we get started?”
I look to Poppy, then Dahlia. Both are grinning with giddy anticipation.
“Okay,” I say, and before I know it, I’m in Kent’s bedroom with the two interns.
My head spins as the ladies unzip each garment bag, revealing one exquisite designer evening gown after the next—Dior, Oscar de la Renta, Stella McCartney, Prada. Now I’m the one who’s gawking.
“I don’t know where to begin,” I say, rifling through the fine fabrics.
“Try this one.” Naomi hands me a shimmering, backless gown with a floor-length hemline. They leave the room while I slip into the dress. It even feels expensive. Everything about this feels expensive. Another one of those billionaire perks.
I check myself in the mirror. Now this is a dress. I walk out of the bedroom and back to the main room. Dahlia, Poppy, and Estelle sit on the sofa while the interns hover nearby.
Poppy is the first to notice my presence. She beams. “Wow, you look beautiful.”
“Totally!” Dahlia adds.
“Thank you,” I say, looking down at the dress, and feeling the iridescent fabric beneath my palm.
“No, Darling, this isn’t the one,” Estelle says, vetoing the whole look. “The color is all wrong for you.”
Poppy gasps. “What? I think she looks magnificent.”
“Uh-uh.” Estelle shakes her head. “Girls, have her try the red Valentino.” Her interns begin down the hall. I follow behind, and Dahlia lets out a gasp that stops me in my tracks.
“You know what would be so great right now?” Dahlia begins, and we all stare at her. “Champagne!”
Poppy holds up a finger. “I second that one!”
“Fine,” Estelle says, like she could use a drink but doesn’t want to seem too eager. Then she begins ushering me and the interns out of the room. “Come on, now. Trot along. We don’t have all day.”
I can’t argue with that. My meeting’s in three hours. I quickly change into the cherry red gown with the heart-shaped neckline and return to the judges. By now, Poppy and Dahlia are sipping from wine flutes and fun pop music plays on the stereo.
“You look like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman!” Dahlia says, and Poppy agrees.
“You think so?” I sweep my red hair over my shoulder feeling like a pretty woman and wondering what Kent would say if he saw me in this dress.
“Yes, you’re gorgeous!” Dahlia says, and I accept the compliment with a smile. Estelle isn’t as wowed as the others at the red number but she gives a slight approving nod.
“What’s with the ‘90s pop music?” I ask.
“I wanted to create the wardrobe transformation movie montage vibe,” she says.
Oh, my gosh, that’s adorable. But it sort of feels like I’m in a movie.
I am playing a role, after all. And even though I’m not exactly who they think I am, it doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun while I’m playing pretend.
So I thank her and head back to the room to try on the next evening gown.
Dress after dress and champagne flows while compliments fly at me. I’ve always been told I look like Rita Hayworth but this is the first time in my life I’ve felt even remotely like a movie-star-slash-princess.
Finally, I get to the last gown, a silky emerald piece from a European designer I’ve never heard of.
But her dress speaks for itself. The moment I slip it on, I know it’s the dress.
A feeling that’s confirmed when I look at myself in the mirror.
This backless, strapless, corset-style gown that puddles on the floor makes me feel like a billion bucks.
Yep, it’s perfect. I hope Kent loves it as much as I do.
When I walk out to the living room, Dahlia and Poppy’s jaws drop but so does Estelle’s. The interns also cover their gaping expressions. I guess they agree.
“This is it, right?” I ask.
“Yes, you look fabulous, Darling. Simply fabulous,” Estelle says, and the others echo her sentiments.
“Does this mean the other gowns are up for grabs?” Dahlia asks.
“Take your pick, Darling,” Estelle offers. Dahlia doesn’t hesitate to set down her empty glass and hurry back to Kent’s room.
Not feeling in a rush to change out of the gorgeous gown just yet, I linger a little longer. Poppy walks over. “We should’ve known this was the dress. It goes perfectly with your engagement ring.” It’s true. The dress does match the emerald accents around the diamond.
“Thanks for helping me out, Poppy. You’re like my fairy godmother.”
She giggles, seeming tickled by the idea. “I should be thanking you. This was so much fun. Kent never sends me on errands like these. Just wait until it’s time to look for a wedding dress.” Poppy winks and elbows me in the ribs. “Next week, perhaps?”
I smile, knowing it’s never going to happen. And for the first time since Kent put this on my finger, I’m a little sad that I’ll never have one of these dress parties again.