Tori
Chapter 11
“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 inpolytechnische 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. Iwouldsee 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.
