Chapter 20 Andrea #2
Crap. I had no clue what I wanted. I didn’t even know what words to use.
My choice was usually determined by (1) the price tag and (2) how my bum looked.
That wasn’t going to fly here. I should have revised before I left, I should have known what to ask for.
Used some sort of fashion lingo. Maybe flicked through a copy of Vogue.
At the very least, I should have worn Spanx—if only I actually owned some.
They’d always struck me as breathable sausage casing for women who don’t jiggle in the first place.
“So. Where do they keep the buy-one-get-one-free section?”
Liam snorted. “Don’t worry about that. They’ll give you some choices. Just go with what makes you feel good.”
A tall, slim woman in a dark-gray polo neck glided over, tablet in hand. She smiled a polished smile at Liam.
“Good morning. How may I help you today?”
Liam’s phone rang. He looked down at it, then held up a finger. “Sorry, Andrea, I won’t be a moment. Please, continue without me.” He pushed open the door and stepped back out to the street, focused on his screen.
The woman’s eyes scanned me like a barcode, lingering on my blazer, then my shoes—high street leather that squeaked if I walked too fast. I could almost see her recalibrating my worth.
I’d tried. I’d done a decent blow-dry and put on a nice lip gloss. I was wearing my best skirt and a jacket that usually passed as work smart. But nothing I owned carried a discreetly embroidered logo that only the rich would notice. That absence seemed to glow like a neon sign in here.
Her smile stayed fixed, but a chill crept in around the edges.
“Are you looking for something in particular?”
“It’s for a wedding,” I said. “I need some … um … guest outfits.”
She looked me up and down, her gaze barely warmer than an ice cube. I resisted the urge to tuck my hair behind my ears and announce that my skirt was from Whistles, thank you very much, which in my world counted as fancy.
“We’ve just had a few new gowns arrive,” she said, tapping something into her tablet.
“They run in very limited sizes, though.” Her glance landed squarely on my hips and stayed there a hair too long.
She scrolled across the screen, her mouth turning down at the corners.
“I’ll see what we have that might … do.”
I wandered over to a rack and pretended to look at a silk top like I might actually buy it. The fabric was so sheer I’d have needed three more layers just to hide my boobs. I dropped the sleeve before I left a fingerprint.
God. This was turning out to be a lot less fun than Eliza and I’d thought.
I wished I had James with me. Or better yet, Monish.
Nobody intimidated him. He dropped designer names like they were old friends and treated shop assistants as if they should be flattered he’d turned up.
He’d have known exactly what to ask for, while I crept around the floor like a lost intern.
“Sorry.” She was back, her smile little better than a sneer. “I looked, but we only have standard sizing.” She tipped her head on one side and clasped her hands together like I was a five-year-old asking to try on her mother’s shoes.
I felt my cheeks start to burn. I wasn’t skinny, but I wasn’t that out of shape. I’d actually dropped a couple of pounds since Christmas, and I felt fine about how I looked.
At least, I had. Until now.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice to something faux-confidential. “Sometimes some of our clients prefer to order bespoke. For … special proportions.” Her eyes slid down my body again, slow enough that I knew exactly what she meant.
I wanted the ground to open up, or for Liam to reappear and casually buy the whole shop. Instead, I nodded dumbly, as if bespoke had always been my plan.
She straightened, already typing something into her tablet. “I’ll see if there’s anything … forgiving in cut.” She delivered the word forgiving like a dart, then vanished again, her heels clicking on the polished floor.
I glanced over my shoulder at the floor-length mirror.
Maybe I had been eating too many takeaways.
Fuck this. My eyes started to sting at the corners.
Why did Liam bring me here, knowing I’d never fit in?
That my shape was so bespoke shop assistants would look at me like I needed a course of Ozempic before they’d even let me in the door?
What was I even doing here, in this shop, with Liam von Roth?
I wanted to go home. Now.
I heard the door clang. Liam was back.
“Sorry about that. It was urgent.” He stopped. His brow creased, then smoothed again. “Everything okay, Andrea?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure I should really—” I inhaled too quickly. “I doubt there’s anything here … for me. You know. Given my …” I gestured vaguely at myself. “But it’s fine. I’m fine.”
Liam frowned slightly and squinted as he looked at me. “What do you—”
The assistant reappeared, two gowns draped over her arm, one beige, one black. Liam put his phone away and glanced from her to me, then back again. Her lips were pursed into a half smile like she was already certain neither would work.
“I’ve selected the only things that might be appropriate … for you,” she said casually, as if it was all too much bother. “Not a lot of choice, given your size. You might do better on Oxford Street.” Her eyes appraised me again, a smile of pure condescension on her lips.
I felt my face go hot. “Right. Of course.”
Liam went still beside me.
“What did you just say?” His voice was quiet.
The assistant blinked.
He let the silence expand almost painfully until her expression wavered.
“Just a second,” he said. He turned away and typed something on his phone.
I stood there quietly, unsure what to do with myself.
“No.” He turned back and smiled tightly. “Appropriate isn’t good enough, I’m afraid.” He glanced at her coldly. “Shame. Please let Karl know I sent my regards.”
Her face drained of color, the gowns sagging in her grip. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“I think you did, actually … Sylvia,” Liam replied, checking her name badge. “That’s the problem.”
Oh dear.
She opened her mouth, but another voice cut through the space.
“Ah, Mr. Roth.” A man in an expensive-looking suit swept toward us, smiling. His gray hair gleamed under the shop lights. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. You should have called. What a pleasure.”
“This is Karl,” Liam said smoothly, turning to me. His hand rested lightly at the small of my back. “He’s the owner.”
Karl took my hand with both of his. “Wonderful, my dear. Any guest of Mr. Roth is our guest.”
“Perhaps Sylvia would like to work elsewhere today, Karl,” Liam said evenly.
“Oh, no. It’s fine, Liam,” I said quietly. “Sylvia hadn’t had time to see what dresses I’d prefer. Hence her … small sample.”
Why was I helping this horrible woman out? Still. Just because she was a mean girl didn’t mean I had to be one, too.
Liam raised a brow. Karl looked at his assistant.
“Please, Sylvia, clear the fitting suite. And bring champagne for Mr. Roth and his guest.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. She glanced at Liam, then me, before dropping her eyes and hurrying off.
A private suite and champagne? Five minutes ago, I was one squeaky step from being escorted out.
Liam leaned down, his voice quiet. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. Thanks. I—”
“Karl,” said Liam. “Wonderful to see you again. This is Andrea Jones. My girlfriend.”