Page 42 of Santa Baby

“It’s Oscar De La Renta! When are you going to get an opportunity to wear something like this again? Just keep the tag on, okay? Return it on Monday.”

My heart was thundering in my chest as Charlotte appeared with shoes in my size and the faux-fur-trimmed cloak that went with the gown.

All in all, the total came out to thirty-five thousand and I had to fight the urge to throw up the second we left the store with several bags and a dress box. Rex was waiting on the corner for us because I didn’t have the nerve to take the subway home with what was the equivalent of my entire income for the year on my person.

Liv was eating it up, though. “He definitely knows you spent that much money by now. I’m sure his bank sends him notifications about transactions.”

“Don’t remind me. I’m going to have a panic attack if I think about it anymore.”

“He’s a billionaire, Fia. It’s fine!” But even she didn’t sound convinced.

I groaned, hanging my head in my hands. I was about to tell Rex to turn around and go back to the shop so I could return the dress when the car suddenly came to a stop. I looked up.

“Uh, Rex? This isn’t my apartment.”

“Mr. O’Leary told me you’ll need jewelry to wear with the gown you just purchased.” He switched off the engine. Instantly, I was sucked into the tension flooding the car. Liv was still as stone beside me as we stared blankly out the frosted window at the shopfront rising beside us.

“I can’t,” I whispered under my breath.

“You absolutely can,” Liv whispered back, slowly reaching toward me. Her hand brushed my chest as she popped the door handle and cold air rushed in. It was enough to break me out of my stupor.

I’d never been inside Tiffany’s before. I’d walked past it. I’d seen the Tiffany Blue shopping bags all over the city. I’d stood outside the glass and wondered what the place would smell like, what the floor would feel like beneath my feet, and how it would feel to walk confidently up to the counter and ask to see the diamonds they were known for.

Liv managed to get me out of the car. We shuffled up to the door, shocked to find that it swung open for us.

“Ms. Webster?” a young man in a fine black suit asked. His voice was kind, professional, with a hint of a French accent that only made this whole experience even more mind-numbingly unreal.

“Yeah?” I squeaked, but we were quickly ushered inside, guided through the gilded lobby and into a private room of dark blue velvet. Liv and I sat in chairs that molded to my body, oozing comfort I couldn’t afford. A crystal glass of pink champagne floated in front of me, but I shook my head as I fished my phone out of my purse.

I expected a missed call from Mason. I couldn’t believe I didn’t have a single text from him about the sheer amount of money I’d just charged to his card. Rex had seemed unruffled when he pulled in front of Tiffany’s and turned in his seat to look at me with nothing but a kind smile on his face.

This had to be a sick joke of some kind. Mason couldn’t be okay with this.

The French man hadn’t even told me his name, but he had a black phone pressed to his ear as he motioned for two nearly identical women dressed in impeccable black to come forward. They carried in several displays, set them down on the black velvet-covered table in the center of the room, and promptly left without making a single sound.

I felt like I was in an echo chamber as the man continued to speak to whomever was on the other line. Liv leaned forward to examine the jewelry, nudging me toward a set of diamond cluster earrings.

But my throat was dry. My mouth tight. My issue with this hit me with startling clarity.

I shouldn’t be guilty about this—about spending his money on something as trivial as a gown and diamonds—because this didn’t mean anything. I was an actor playing a role. I’d be dressing myself up like a pretty little doll to attend that pretty little party on a pretty big yacht. It meant nothing. None of this meant anything. It was just part of the scheme.

The version of me who would be hanging on Mason’s arm tomorrow wasn’t the same Fia who had just sat at the kitchen island at his apartment, eating sushi, my legs crossed and my feet bare while he teased me over glasses of wine.

Did I want this? This glittering, expensive life? Or did I want to still be Fia. To still sit and edit my photographs, to live in my cozy little studio with my broken Christmas tree?

Why did I feel like I couldn’t have both?

Why did my heart crunch into itself at the thought of losing Mason when I never really had him to begin with?

The push and pull of our relationship had my head spinning. I barely noted jewelry being fitted to my wrists, my fingers, my neck. I turned away when the man tucked the cluster earrings and a matching set of bracelets and a necklace in a bag. Liv accepted it for me. I wasn’t even asked for Mason’s card.

He probably had an account here.

I wondered if he’d done this before, to some other woman, to clear his conscience after taking things too far.

I kept my eyes on the cityscape as Rex drove us back to my apartment. Liv helped me carry all the bags upstairs, but she could sense something was wrong. My hands didn’t shake as I unlocked my door and opened it wide, sucking in a startled breath as the scent of pine—deep green and crisp—exploded through my head.

Liv gasped. I found it hard to breathe as I looked at the small but real Christmas tree in my living room, already painstakingly decorated, just how I would have done it myself.