DIANA
Igasp as I stand before my newly filled wardrobe.
I’ve been here a week, slopping about in my t-shirts and tracksuits, and now, as if by magic, every cupboard in my room has been stocked.
Where there were empty hangers before, now there are all kinds of designer clothes.
Rows of silk, cashmere, chiffon and cotton. Dresses, tops, trousers, blouses.
Everything.
“What on earth is this?” I say to Lizzie, who’s standing beside me, staring at the clothes with wide eyes, looking just as surprised as me.
“You told my dad you had no clothes. He asked me what happened to your things, so I told him. I hope you don’t mind. I had no idea he was going to do this, though.”
Heat rushes to my face. Every dress from Erica Lefroy’s spring collection—the ones that look like fairytales—is hanging in my cupboard.
Beside them are the satin and leather collection, and shelves of Erica Lefroy shoes in every colour line another wall.
My knees go weak, and I cup my hands over my mouth, letting out the tiniest whimper.
“Oh, God. I wasn’t asking for this. I didn’t mean to…” My hands hit my cheeks. “This is so embarrassing.”
Lizzie lets out a bemused-sounding giggle. “Please don’t worry. Honestly, this is nothing. I promise. I don’t mean to be a dick about it, but he probably made everything he spent back on interest in about ten seconds.”
Something inside me drops like a stone. For a second, I thought he cared.
“Oh… oh. That’s…”
Another little laugh spills from her mouth, and she pulls me into a hug. “I know it seems like a lot, but don’t feel guilty, because this is nothing to him. Nothing. I’m not supposed to talk about money, but really, this means shit to him.”
I let out a sound against her shoulder that’s half guffaw, half sob. “Oh, well, if it means shit, then that’s okay. He can spoil me all he wants.”
She pulls back, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Don’t tell him I said any of that. He’d be so mad.”
My stomach roils with nerves. “What am I supposed to say?”
Lizzie shrugs. “Just say thank you. He’ll probably make you chalk it up in your finances as a business loan. He’s very emotionally detached about this kind of stuff.”
Staring at the rows of exquisite clothes, I push my hair off my face, resisting the urge to shove a chunk in my mouth and chew on it the way I used to do as a kid. “I couldn’t pay this back. This must be… it must have cost…” I turn to Lizzie. “God, what must it have cost?”
“He won’t actually make you pay him back. Not when you didn’t ask for it. He’ll just call it a loan to make you feel better and never ask for the money.”
My shoulders sink and a laugh cracks from my mouth. “Phew. Okay. But won’t he want… something? In exchange?”
Lizzie tilts her head to the side. “Like what?”
Like a blow job?
I blink, wishing my mind hadn’t gone there, and praying Lizzie can’t tell it did. “I dunno. I could make dinner?”
She chortles. “What would you make? Scrambled eggs on toast?”
I scowl, but don’t correct her. I barely know how to cook, and she knows it.
She rubs her hands together, a gleeful smile erupting over her face.
“Try something on. I want to dress you up like a doll. I’ve had enough of seeing you in these tracksuits that totally drown you.
It’s like you don’t even have boobs under there.
” She gestures to my chest. “And I know you have a great rack. Oh, hold on—” She pulls open a drawer, revealing designer lingerie in all sorts of colours.
Lace, silk. Bras, French knickers, thongs. The whole lot.
“Holy crap, your dad bought me underwear,” I blurt, wide-eyed as I slam my hands over my mouth, trying to ignore the heat searing through me at the idea of him picking these items out, maybe even wondering what I might look like wearing them.
Lizzie draws her neck in, her mouth twisting in near disgust. “I don’t think he would have done that.
” She screws her face up even more. “Ew. It would have been his PA and the styling team.” Her expression relaxes.
“You can’t replace a wardrobe without getting the undergarments too.
It’s like trying to build a house without scaffolding. ”
Giggling at her comparison, I pick up a bra, hooking the strap over my index finger as I raise it. Lilac lace with a silk trim. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I raise my eyebrow suggestively and purr, “Well, someone has great taste in women’s underwear.”
Lizzie sticks a finger in her mouth and fake-retches. “I wish you hadn’t put the idea of my dad buying them in my head. It’s gross.”
Oh, Lizzie. You have no idea.
After I’ve tried on all the clothes and pranced about the penthouse like a catwalk model, Lizzie suggests we crack open some champagne. Apparently, my new wardrobe is cause for celebration in the Bastion household.
“This really suits you,” Lizzie says, indicating the baby pink, tiered silk evening dress I’m sporting as she fills two crystal champagne flutes with Vintage Dom Perignon, because that’s a cheap one that her dad won’t care about.
“You need to invite me to a party to justify this one,” I say, spinning around and gesturing to the dress as she slides the glass towards me across the marble island.
I lift the champagne and take a sip, savouring the bubbles popping on my tongue.
“Really, what will I say to your dad? It feels a bit weird accepting an entire wardrobe from him.” Putting my glass down, I grab my boobs, one in each hand, and shove them together.
“And this bra is a miracle-worker. Look what it does for the girls. Look at that cleavage.”
Lizzie doesn’t laugh like I expect her to, but her eyes lift to something, or someone, over my shoulder.
A cold chill works its way down my spine, and slowly, frozen in position with a boob in each hand, I turn.
And there he is, just like I knew he would be. Rafe Bastion, looking handsome and grumpy as fuck. His eyes drop to my cleavage.
He dips his head, almost like he’s bowing in apology for even noticing. “Excuse me,” he says, turning away as though he means to pass through to the living area.
“Wait, Dad,” Lizzie calls. “Have a glass of champagne with us.”
My heart thumps as he pivots back to face us. “I need to change,” he says. “So do you. We’ve got the opera tonight.”
Lizzie’s mouth drops open. “The opera?”
“Yes,” he says, elongating the word like he knows she’s forgotten. “Madam Butterfly.”
“Oh…”
He presses his lips tight. “You forgot.”
“Eek. Yes. Sorry,” Lizzie admits, touching her fingers to her temple. “I can’t go. I have the meet-up with my travelling group. The social. It’s the first time we’re getting together before we leave. I have to show up, I have to. Otherwise, they’ll all get to know each other and I won’t and…”
She trails off as her father stands in the doorway, staring at her with disapproval.
He undoes his tie, tugging it out from beneath the collar of his shirt.
It slides free, and he wraps it around his fist, and I can hardly breathe as I imagine him wrapping it about my wrist instead and dragging me to his bedroom where he would proceed to tie me to his bed.
I stare at the floor, feeling like an intruder in this father-daughter misunderstanding, and trying desperately to ignore all the lewd images running through my mind.
“Take Diana instead,” Lizzie blurts.
My head whips up at Lizzie’s words, my eyebrows rising so high I swear they’re about to fly off my face and hit the ceiling.
“Look at her,” Lizzie says. “She’s ready. It would be a shame to let a dress like that go to waste.”
If ever a silence has been loud, it’s this one. It’s ringing in my ears as Rafe’s gaze shifts between me and his daughter, brow creasing as though he’s calculating something. I suspect he wants to reprimand Lizzie for putting him in this awkward situation.
“Do you like the opera?” he asks me.
“I-I…” Can’t formulate a sentence. The last thing I need is an evening in his company when he’s looking so gorgeous and sophisticated, and my boobs are all plumped up and ripe for picking.
Holy crap.
A night at the opera with Rafe Bastion. So much for my ‘no repeats’ rule. This is the first date of all first dates.
I absolutely cannot go.
“Is that a yes?” he asks, and his stern tone demands a quick answer with no allowance for deliberation. It’s intimidating, but my heart flutters regardless. I have no idea how anyone could work for this man without melting into a puddle every time he opens his mouth.
“I couldn’t step in like that.” I put down my glass and hold my hands up like I’m admitting I’m guilty of something.
A slight smile touches his lips, as if my awkward surprise amuses him. He might even think it’s endearing.
I rode your face, mister.
I’m not cute.
“Isn’t there someone else you’d rather take?” I say quickly.
Serious again, he glances at the clock on the wall. “Given it starts in half an hour, no. It’s you or no one.”
The echo of his words from the night at Delirium—it’s me or no one—slides beneath my skin, and before I can stop it, my answer pops out. “Okay. I’d love to.”
Lizzie grins at me, wiping her brow and mouthing ‘thank you’ as if I’ve done her a huge favour.
She’ll probably never grin at me again if she ever finds out what I’ve already done.
“Give me five minutes,” Rafe says, before walking off and granting me an extremely unhelpful view of his arse, all pert and tempting in his suit trousers.