I looked up from my phone quickly. How did he know I was here? Had he been tracking my car, or my phone? The possibilities were endless. If a stranger was tracking me, then Max would be for sure. I hesitated, but eventually stepped out of the car and went to the doors, finding them open.
The lights turned on as I moved, just as they had the previous times I’d been here. With each step, I grew braver, more confident, more sure of why I was here.
“Hello? Do I need to wear a blindfold again? I will if you come down,” I called to the open room. I got another text.
Unknown: Go to the dressing rooms.
Following his instructions, I went past the auditorium and headed to the back. I paused as the lights turned on, shining on the shiny new nameplate on the door.
Daisy Lovelace
“What is this?” I asked. I had a feeling he could hear me, no matter where I was in his theater. Slowly, I pushed the unlocked door open. Lights clicked on, and I gasped. Goldand rose pink decorated the walls and furniture. I stepped deeper inside and inhaled. It smelled of him.
He’d been here.
I ran my hands over the gold painted wood of my—the vanity table. I blinked the odd thought away. This wasn’t mine, none of this was mine, although it felt like the room had been pulled directly from my dreams. The soft pink carpet, the art déco wallpaper. It was all so beautiful.
I went to the boudoir and pulled it open, revealing a dozen long, feathery dressing gowns of all colors. I turned and went back to the vanity, opening the drawers. I found expensive makeup, lotions, and perfumes. This didn’t happen overnight. He’d been working on this for a while, I realized, when I found the shoes in my size.
I was crouched on the floor, my vision blurring, when a tear slid down my cheek.
Suddenly, I felt his presence behind me. I sat absolutely still as his hands came around and a blindfold was placed over my eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asked, helping me to my feet.
“I do. How did you know I loved art déco?”
The name hung between us.
Gatsby.
He really had known him. This room confirmed it for me. Only someone who knew Gatsby even a shred of how I knew him would understand and know exactly how to create something for me to win my heart.
I shuddered. Win my heart?
I didn’t even know this man, and I was saying he had my heart?
“Why did you do this?”
“I wanted you to know that if you want it, it’s yours.”
“But this is a permanent dressing room.”
“I know. I want you to have a home here forever.”
I turned around and found myself wrapped in his arms.
“I don’t understand.” Tears soaked the blindfold. “You hardly know me. I hardly know you. This is too much.”
“It’s not enough, frankly. He wanted this for you. Let me do this.”
I tilted my head up. “Why? Do you owe him a favor? Are you telling him everything about our meetings?”
“If I were, would that change what you say to me?”
I swallowed and let go of him, turning to clutch myself. “These feelings I’m developing for you are the ultimate betrayal. I told him I’d wait, and I want more than anything to hold true to that. I can only ever love him. I’m sorry if I made you think differently.”
“Love and sex are separate things. Surely you know that, being engaged to a man you don’t love.”
