Chapter Eighteen
"WHAT ABOUT THIS?" HEIDI gestures to the dress that's really pretty.
..and pretty expensive, too. "Or this?" She gestures to the pantsuit that's just as pretty.
..and pretty not much me, since I've never worn a pantsuit my entire life, and it doesn't seem right that I'd start wearing one now, of all days.
I look at Heidi and Judy, feeling rather helpless, and the two of them look at each other like parents trying to silently strategize on how to break the truth to their little girl that Santa doesn't exist.
The thought almost makes me smile. I think it's because of how everyone's been so nice, that even though I'm forty-two, they make me feel like I'm fourteen instead.
Today they want me to look good for my meeting with Sandy. I appreciate that, really, but...
I clear my throat, and when Judy and Heidi look at me—
"You just want the shirt and jeans."
"I just want the shirt and jeans."
We end up speaking at the same time, and while it does make all of us laugh, it also has me wondering, rather wistfully and apprehensively—
How can this be real life?
Everything just feels so surreal but at the same time terrifying and undeserved.
Like this very instance, I'm inside a fitting room of a private boutique in a hotel, the kind that you can only book by appointment and where all the clothes on display are already preselected for your size, and they also serve the most delicious little cakes and a refreshing array of drinks while you look for the perfect outfit, the perfect bag, the perfect everything really.
I look at myself in the mirror, and my reflection is another miracle. I think—no, actually, I know—I look so much younger now, less stressed, more relaxed.
I also know it's all because of...him, and that’s why...
When I remember how I once asked myself if I would turn back time if I could—
I couldn't answer it then, but I can answer it now.
And I think I'll have to say...no.
Not even if it's just to avoid being assaulted.
Because if that didn't happen, then I wouldn't be able to meet Judy and Heidi. If that didn't happen, I would still take my safety for granted. If that didn't happen, I would miss out on knowing just how much he—
Knock knock.
I check the time and almost groan.
"Give me a minute, please.”
I take one last look at my reflection.
The shirt and jeans are the cheapest this boutique has available, but because I recognize the brands, I know they're still way over my budget. They're also the nicest shirt and jeans I've ever worn, and so...
I think I look okay?
But...hmm.
It wouldn’t hurt to have a second or third opinion, would it?
I unlock the door, asking, "How do I look..."
My voice trails off when I realize that in front of me is neither Judy nor Heidi.
Oh.
It's been a week.
A whole week since I've seen him.
And in that week, my heart apparently forgot how to behave around tall British billionaires, because the moment my eyes land on him, my throat goes dry, and I find myself alternately blinking and gaping like an idiot.
Has he always been this...eye-catching?
Is it alright for me to notice, objectively of course, that he’s, well, drop-dead gorgeous?
And the expression on his beautiful face...
Did he ever look at me broodingly before?
And is it just me or does he look leaner right now? And tougher? Like he's been working out a lot, and that’s why—
Stop, Nicole.
Don't notice that.
Don't notice him.
Because my conscience has reached its decision, and it’s that for as long as I’m still married, I can’t think of my soon-to-be-ex-husband's boss as a man.
Much less, a handsome man—
"You look beautiful."
—who’s suddenly snarling at me even though I think he’s also just complimented me?
"Is what you want to hear?"
This time, he’s just biting each word out like it’s costing him so much to speak, and...oh.
He shoves his hands deep in his pockets. "Don't answer that."
His tone now matches his brooding expression, and that’s when I know for sure.
"You...you're jealous?"
The words have already spilled out before I realized what I'm saying, and I can only gasp, embarrassed and panicky. I can't believe I said that, much less have the audacity to believe—
"Shouldn't I be?"
W-What is he saying?
"I already made it clear I want to marry you," he grits out. "So why would you think I wouldn't be jealous?"
He suddenly charges forward like a man going on offense, and the next thing I know, my back is up against the mirror, and his hands have come down on either side of me, palms flat against the glass, caging me in.
This fitting room that once felt incredibly spacious, with its own chaise and round table—
The whole place suddenly feels claustrophobic and tiny, and I can only tell myself that's the only reason I'm struggling to breathe and stay still.
It's the only reason.
It has to be the only reason.
"You just told me you want to be beautiful—"
"B-But I didn't!"
I didn't mean to gasp, but he just has me so shocked. And when the words actually stop him from speaking—
"I never said I wanted to be beautiful," I can't help insisting on saying the same thing because it matters to me that he knows I'm not lying.
"So you just want to check your appearance, is that it?"
The sharpness of his words is painfully offset by the tautness of his tone, and it makes my heart ache again. It still doesn't feel right, for my heart to ache for another man like this, but when I see the way his jaw has clenched—
"You don’t understand,” I say shakily. “I just want to make sure there's nothing about my appearance—"
How can I protect my pride at the cost of his?
"—that would let him know what happened to me."
My voice catches at the end, but I force myself to continue.
"I don't want Sandy or anyone else again to ever think I'm easy to take advantage of."