11. Tori
TORI
“Have you ever been cheated on?” I asked the sales associate.
“Yes.” She tilted her head, motioning me to turn in front of the mirror in the flounced skirt I was trying on. “I was still in polytechnische schule, how you say…high school. A dumb teenager. He was older. I thought he was so mature.” She rolled her eyes.
After I had collected myself, I had marched down to the extremely expensive boutique in the hotel lobby, and found the store full of salesgirls more than happy to help me rejuvenate my wardrobe on Stefan’s tab.
One of them, who was about my age, had introduced herself as Katharina.
She had a shy smile, but she knew what she was doing when it came to my request for sexy and sophisticated.
With her help, I picked out several brand-new outfits—things I would’ve never dreamed of buying for myself back in Springfield.
“So what did you do? After you found out he cheated, I mean?”
She allowed herself a little smirk. “I confronted him. He was a waiter, so I went to his work at the busy shift and shouted at him in front of the entire restaurant. The girl he was shtupping worked there too. They both got fired.”
“I can’t believe you outed him in public like that!” This girl had balls.
She shrugged. “I didn’t plan for it, I was just so angry. It felt good.”
I stepped back into the dressing room to try on something else, and spoke to her through the door. “So…did he try to get you back?”
“No. After that night, I never saw him again.”
That was a luxury I didn’t have. I would see Stefan again, and as I glanced at my watch I realized that the hour of our reservation was drawing near.
Maybe confronting him would make me feel better, too.
It probably wouldn’t change anything, but I couldn’t imagine playing along with our fake marriage for the next couple of years, going about my business as if I knew nothing and resenting him for his lies the whole time.
Because I’d decided one thing: I wasn’t going to ask for a divorce.
Not just because our fathers would be furious, but because I still wanted to have my college dream, and the security that Stefan’s wealth offered. My degree was the one thing that would assure my future whenever this counterfeit marriage really did end.
I stepped out to look at myself in the mirror again, this time in a slinky black number as expensive as my iPhone. I did a quick turn, tugging the hem down when I saw how much of my thighs were visible. I felt so exposed.
“This one is so…vavoom. You must be very confident,” Katharina said with a shy smile.
“I’d have to be, to walk around in something like this,” I said, biting my lip as I studied my reflection.
“It looks like it was made for you,” she offered. “It hugs you. But maybe too daring?”
Oh, but I dared. “Actually, you know what? I think I’ll just wear it out of the store.”
Katharina laughed, and it felt good to join in with her. Almost like I had a friend, though I knew this was just her job.
In the end, I had more clothes than I could carry. Beyond the dresses, blouses, and some practical slacks, I’d stocked up on totally impractical Jimmy Choo stilettos, some strappy Ferragamo heels, and an armload of cashmere wraps in rich, softly muted tones.
“I’ll arrange to have everything sent up to your room,” Katharina said.
“Wonderful.”
I felt empowered somehow. Most of these clothes were tighter and sexier than anything I’d ever worn, yes, but it was the first time in my life I’d made all my own wardrobe decisions.
My father never would have let me walk out the door dressed this way.
And I doubted Stefan would have been happy with my choices, either.
But my father wasn’t here. Neither was Stefan.
As Katharina rang up my purchases and wrapped each of them in layers of tissue paper, I spotted a purse that was displayed on a shelf just past the counter.
It sat behind a thick pane of glass, and like a piece of fine jewelry, its own spotlight shone down on it.
I couldn’t help but notice how buttery soft the leather looked, the way the gold hardware gleamed.
“Excuse me, but what is that?” I asked, pointing.
She glanced over her shoulder and turned back with a diabolical grin. “The lady has a discerning eye. It is a Birkin bag. It is made by Hermès.” She pronounced it ‘air mez.’
“I’ve heard of them,” I said.
She told me the price. It was enough for half a year’s tuition.
“Do you make commission here?” I asked.
She glanced around and then lowered her voice subtly. “I’m saving up for a semester abroad. University is free here, but not in other countries. I want to see the world.”
I smiled. “In that case I’ll take it.”
“The lady dares again,” she crowed. “It’s stunning. Will you take it with you now?”
“I don’t think it goes with the dress, but please send it up, and thank you for all your help.”
I’d decided to take myself on a date at the hotel bar, after this. The last thing I’d need was to have too many drinks and forget where I’d set down my brand new, trazillion dollar purse.
Meanwhile, I sincerely hoped that when Stefan did return from whatever he was out doing with his leggy brunette, the sight of all the shopping bags would give him the kind of heart palpitations I had gotten when I’d spotted him with his mistress.
I felt a little guilty about the whole thing, but then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again.
The dress Katharina had called vavoom was sleek and slinky, hitting me mid-thigh.
The whole thing was held up by tiny little strings criss-crossing my back that could barely be described as straps.
I chose to finish off the look with a pair of sky-high stilettos in cherry red. I was ready to have some fun.
With one of my new cashmere wraps in hand, I headed to the restaurant bar. I loved lots of things about Europe, but the drinking age was quickly becoming a favorite. I sat down on a stool and ordered the fruitiest, most ridiculous cocktail I could find on the menu.
Above the bar, the clock read 6:45.
I ignored it.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be meeting Stefan for dinner. I purposefully put my phone away so I wouldn’t even see if he called or texted. He could sit and wait in the restaurant for hours for all I cared. Let him get a taste of how it felt to be someone’s last priority.
I finished my too-sweet drink and ordered another one.
I was starting to feel a little buzzed, but I liked it.
Besides the occasional glass of champagne at one of my father’s parties or a sip of wine at dinner, I hadn’t done much drinking before this trip.
I’d probably already had more alcohol today than I had in my past eighteen years. Europe was wonderful.
My next drink was as ridiculous as the first and tasted just as good.
The bartender gave me a crystal dish of fancy olives as well, so I munched on those while sipping my drink through its pink curly straw.
I had a feeling the bartender had added that just out of whimsy—nobody else in the place had been given a straw like mine, and I figured that since I wasn’t partaking in the bar’s famous wine list, he was probably just amused by my choice of drink.
I smiled at him as he refilled my pretzel dish.
Everyone here was so nice. Nicer than my husband, that’s for sure.
At least the hotel staff seemed happy I was here.
Probably because I was spending a ton of money and tipping them all so generously, but hey, I would take it.
The bartender was definitely going to get a huge tip.
I finished my drink and ordered a third.
“I like a woman who knows how to have a good time,” said an accented male voice.
I spun on the stool to find a preppy hot guy on the next seat. He was blonde and compactly built, smiling at me in a crisp patterned shirt. He gave off a vibe of wealth and confidence—like Stefan did, but more relaxed. Way less intense than my husband ever acted.
He was very handsome, very polished and outwardly friendly, but my heart didn’t leap at the sight of him. My pulse didn’t race. My palms didn’t sweat. Still, it was nice to have some company that I hadn’t technically paid for.
“Your accent is different,” I said. “Everyone speaks Austrian around here. But yours is more…French. Where are you from?”
I took another sip of my drink, awaiting his answer expectantly.
“You have a good ear,” he said. “I’m from Rouen. It’s the capital of Normandy, in the north of France. One hundred and thirty-five kilometers from Paris.”
“I only know miles,” I admitted, grinning. This wasn’t so hard, this whole ‘making friends’ in a foreign country thing. Though obviously I was spoiled by his fluency in English.
“It’s about two hours, by car,” he elaborated. “And how about yourself? You are clearly American.”
“I’m from Springfield,” I said. “It’s two hundred miles south of Chicago…that’s three hours, by car. Maybe four if there’s traffic. Actually, there’s always traffic…I’m rambling.”
“May I buy you a drink?” he asked, glancing at my wedding rings.
I gestured at the glass in front of me as if to say, ‘I’m good.’
“Well, perhaps we can keep each other company.”
“I’m okay with that,” I said, taking a healthy swallow of my cocktail.
He leaned closer. “You’re very beautiful, you know.”
“I’m married,” I said with a smile, flashing my ring pointedly. “This is my honeymoon, actually. But thanks for the compliment.”
He held up his hands defensively. “Just a friendly observation. How are you finding the city? Have you had a chance to see much of it?”
“Vienna is amazing, but…my husband has been here before, and he’s not into sightseeing.” I shrugged. “I want to see everything, but he’s been busy working. I’ve barely even left the hotel.” My mood deflated. I nursed my beverage.
“Tsk, such a shame. There is so much here to discover. And you’re a woman who likes to explore. I can tell by your eyes—they dance around the room. You hunger for experience.”