Chapter 8
GRACE
Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, startling me when I wake up in Asher's guest room. Or my room now, I guess.
The day before comes back in a wave of memories.
Moving out of my apartment. Kacey threatening Asher, and then hiding out in my chosen room for most of the evening.
There’s a part of me that thinks this must all be a dream.
But I’m laying on the softest sheets I’ve ever felt in a room that’s twice the size of mine, with furniture that probably costs a year's worth of rent.
My phone chimes on the nightstand, breaking me out of my spiral.
Asher
You were still sleeping when I left this morning. We have engagement photos this afternoon in Central Park. Lisette will show you to the spa for treatments, and my stylist, Vivian, will be there at 11 with your new wardrobe.
That’s it. No have a great day! Or can’t wait to see you! But why would he say these things?
I scrub a hand over my face.
What did I get myself into?
I need to align my expectations. Why would I want him to say those things? If I want this to work for the next year, it’s best if we keep things as professional as possible.
A knock startles me, and I jump out of bed, wrapping my arms around myself as I open the door to find Lisette, dressed in all black with an apron tied around her waist. "Good morning, Miss Morgan," she says cheerfully. "You have an appointment at the spa for nine a.m., and I didn’t want you to miss it. Would you like coffee or something to eat before you go?”
“I can get it.” Even though Lisette seems like a nice woman, I’m not used to people waiting on me.
“Oh no, dear. I’ll get everything started, and you come down when you’re ready. I’ll have options.”
I nod, even though I don’t know what she means by options.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken a quick shower and overthought what one wears for a spa morning before settling on plain jeans and a simple t-shirt.
Lisette has a spread of breakfast options on the island counter when I enter the kitchen.
Croissants, Danishes, a variety of bagels, eggs, bacon, potatoes, fruit…
“This is way too much…”
She waves her hand. “Nonsense. Just grab what you’d like. Once I know your preferences a little better, it will be easier. But no pressure, dear.”
She’s being too nice, and it makes me anxious. I’ve learned that nobody in this city is kind for free.
Trying to push those thoughts away, I pluck a blueberry bagel from the options and graciously accept a cup of coffee from her.
After I eat and finish the rest of my coffee, I head down to the spa, with instructions on how to get there from Lisette. The moment I step through the frosted glass doors, I realize I’m out of my depth.
A team of people clad in serene-blue uniforms stand, waiting for me.
One of them introduces herself as Margot and goes through the list of treatments that Asher ordered.
There’s a facial, waxing, manicure, and pedicure.
It’s more than I expected when he told me I’d be having a spa morning.
A mani/pedi has always been reserved for special occasions in my life.
Margot hands me a glass of champagne and leads me to a changing room, telling me to undress and put on a fluffy robe. I do, even though thoughts are moving slowly, and I can’t process everything that’s happening.
This feels like something out of a rom-com.
“I wasn’t expecting all this…” I tell Margot when I exit the changing room. I'm intimidated by these people. I've never been doted on like this. I barely even get my hair cut twice a year. Pampering is a luxury I can't afford.
Margot’s pink-painted lips lift into a sweet smile. "Mr. Caine wants you properly prepared for your engagement photos." She leads me to a room that smells of lavender and is lit with candles. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of you."
Logically, I know this is part of the deal. It's normal for two people getting married to take engagement photos. But the concept has me feeling nauseous, considering it’s all fake. The next step is announcing our engagement, and once that news is out, I can't take it back.
I'll forever be associated with Asher Caine.
"Are you well?" Vivian asks, lifting her hand to feel my forehead. "You look pale."
"I'm fine." I swallow the lump forming in my throat. "Everything's fine." But nothing actually feels fine. I might throw up at any second.
Why in the world did I agree to this?
A million dollars. That's why.
I suck in a breath and try to steady myself as I lie down on the table. The new woman, whose name I’ve already forgotten, places a warm towel over my face.
"Try to relax," she murmurs when I flinch at the temperature. "This facial will help with any stress."
Relaxing seems impossible when I feel like I'm being prepped like a show pony.
It's becoming more and more apparent to me how different Asher and I are. How am I supposed to keep up this charade? I'm not qualified to be a billionaire's wife.
Panic thrums through my veins as my head starts to recall all the things I've failed at in my lifetime.
Not good enough.
Not good enough.
Not good enough.
That I'm not good at anything.
"Your heart is racing," the esthetician observes, fingers pausing on my pulse point. "Deep breaths."
I force air into my lungs, but it doesn't help. This is real. I signed that contract. Now I'm going to be made up like a doll and hanging off his arm for the next year.
"She's not relaxing," she says to someone else, and I hear a long sigh before cool hands touch mine.
"What can we do to help you relax, Miss Morgan? Another glass of champagne, maybe?" It's Margot’s voice, but I can't see her with the cucumber slices that cover my eyes. Before I have a chance to answer, she's already calling out for someone to bring me champagne.
The seat is moved upright, and the vegetables are lifted from my eyes as a glass of champagne is handed to me.
"Mr. Caine wants you to have a nice day." She tilts her head, eyeing me with a frown.
I'm worried that if I don't have a nice day, it might affect her employment. I don't know this woman, but the last thing I want is for her to lose her job, all because I'm not a fan of being poked and prodded and my anxiety is threatening to take me under.
Sucking in a breath, I nod. "Okay, I'll try."
"Good, good. Let’s continue."
After the facial is finished and my skin is glowing like it never has before, Margot leads me to another room, where a woman waxes every inch of my body.
I’ve heard of Brazilians, but I’ve always just shaved down there, leaving a strip of hair.
Apparently, that’s not acceptable, and instead, it’s all ripped from my body.
After that, Margot brings me to a cushioned chair with a tub at the base for a pedicure. While one woman scrubs my feet and paints my toes, another starts on my nails. I want to groan, but I do my best to place a smile on my face and drink the champagne while they work.
This should be every girl's dream, right? Being pampered by a team of people, all paid for by the hot billionaire? So why do I have rocks in my stomach then?
I polish off the glass and ask for a refill before leaning back in the chair and attempting to relax.
Hair and makeup are next, and by the time I’m whisked back up to the penthouse, a new woman is standing in the living room, flipping through a rack of clothes.
“Grace.” She’s wearing a black pantsuit with high heels and red-painted lips. She greets me with a calming smile and shakes my hand. “I’m Vivian, Mr. Caine’s personal stylist. I’ve prepared some selections for you. I think they’ll meet your needs. But first, let’s get you ready for photos.”
An hour, and what feels like a full-body transformation later, I’m staring at a stranger in the mirror.
My nails gleam with a sophisticated pale pink polish, my skin tingles from being waxed in places I didn't know needed attention, and my hair cascades in soft waves to my shoulders.
The makeup artist has worked some kind of sorcery—my eyes look bigger, my cheekbones higher, my lips fuller.
Vivian clothed me in a white dress that hits above my knees and clings to my body like a second skin, paired with nude heels that I struggle to walk in.
"Beautiful," Vivian declares, circling me like I'm her masterpiece. "Mr. Caine will be pleased."
Those words settle uncomfortably. Is that what matters now? Pleasing him?
Vivian leaves me with a whole new wardrobe, and Lisette comes in to say Wallace is ready downstairs, but I’m still staring at my reflection, wondering if I’ll recognize myself by the time this year is over.