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Will I be forced to carry through with this marriage?
Or will another plan crop up, one that keeps me safe without the two of us hitching ourselves to one another for all eternity?
There’s only one way to settle a quavering soul.
Organization.
I move to the next bag, ready to unpack my toiletries. Setting my brown leather Louis Vuitton bag on the counter, I pull the smooth zipper, instantly surrounded by the clean, fruity scents of my bathroom supplies.
I neatly line the lavender-scented shampoo and conditioner next to one another on the built-in stone shelf of the massive, open shower. Below that I unpack my favorite of the many bath gels that were given to me, the mango peach, as well as my disposable razor.
Pattering back across the black-and-white striped floors, I find them warm under my bare feet.
The floors are heated? I look at the array of buttons on the wall next to the mirror. There are temperature controls for the floors, the showers, the porcelain of the clawfoot tub that sits catty-corner under a bay of windows. I’m tempted to stop unpacking and try out the tub, but I know I’ll enjoy it more if I finish the job first.
From the bag, I lift a handmade, vanilla-scented olive oil candle—a farewell gift from Apollo. His mother lives in a small village in the countryside of the mainland. She makes the candles herself with oil pressed from olives from her great-grandfather’s olive farm. I hold the jar to my nose, deeply inhaling the scent.
A smile stretches over my face as I place it on the corner of the counter.
Cosmetics next. My glam team gifted me with fresh, unopened sets of all the creams, powders, and potions they used to smooth and brighten my skin. There’s a brand-new makeup palette they taught me how to use, gel eyeliner, mascara, bronzer. This evening will be my first time using it on my own. I hope I do the team proud.
A nervous butterfly flits in my stomach, thinking about our dinner tonight.
I’ve always looked forward to our meals together.
Which reminds me, I need to unpack for Damian and choose an outfit for him to wear tonight. His suit was packed well but needs a bit of attention. Using the electric steamer in the laundry room, I smooth the wrinkles from his suit jacket, then hang the suit outside the door of his bedroom closet. I find comfortable clothing for sleeping, a casual outfit for tomorrow. I fold everything, placing it in the top two drawers of his dresser where they will be easy for him to find.
I repeat the process of unpacking in his bathroom, setting out his toiletries.
When I’m done, I find myself hungry.
A cushy corner of the sofa in the living room is calling my name. I settle in and phone downstairs to order a sandwich and a hot tea. The meal arrives on a silver tray, with a single red rose in a clear vase.
After eating, I shower, washing my hair twice for the hair stylist I’ll be visiting later. Exhausted, I dress in the comfy sweats I laid out earlier, then crawl under the cotton covers to sleep. I wake, hours later, to a knock on the penthouse door.
Stretching with a yawn, I rise from the bed and tiptoe past Damian’s closed door. He must have gotten back from the hospital while I was asleep. Hopefully he’s resting.
At the front door I find a woman dressed in a black suit, a gold Bergdorf Goodman seal on her lapel.
She holds out a businesslike hand. “Hello, Lindy. I’m Suzette and I’m here to help you with your shopping.”
“Oh, wow. Um… Sorry, Mr. Bachman is sleeping but we can go back here to chat.” I show her into the sunroom behind the living room, as far away from Damian’s closed door as possible.
She takes a seat, pulling a glossy catalog from her black work bag. “Let’s see what you need.”
I stop her before she can start. They’ve spoiled me too much already. “Thank you for coming, but I’m sorry, I think I have everything I need.”
She pauses mid-unpacking to stare at me. “I’m under strict instructions from Mr. Bachman. I’m afraid I can’t leave without you ordering a few things for your upcoming stay. We have clothing, bedding, personal care items, anything you may need for your stay here in the city.”
“Hmm.” I glance at the home goods catalog in her hand. There’s a photo of a beautiful room on the front, a bed made with layers of blankets and pillows. I reach for the catalog. “It is nice to have a blanket and pillow all your own, isn’t it?”
She smiles with relief, handing it to me. “Yes. It is. We have an amazing organic cotton line if you want something extra comfy.”
“That sounds really nice.” I flip through the photos.
We settle on a down-filled blanket made with blush pink cotton, edged with a satin trim. A bamboo pillow made of memory foam that supposedly keeps you cool as it cradles your head. A fluffy pink bathrobe reminiscent of the white one I had in Greece.
“Have you seen our athleisure line?” Suzette asks, pushing another catalog my way. Not wanting to be rude or get her in trouble, I order a few more kicking-around-the-house outfits—leggings, soft, cropped sweatshirts, thick wool socks.
