Page 90 of Enzo

I get up slowly. “No need. We’ll order room service.”

Her eyes widen. “This is … this is too much. Things like this never happen to me.”

I give her a menu. “I find that hard to believe. From my experience, things happen whenever you’re around.”

She opens the menu. “Maybe,” she murmurs, examining it. I have a feeling she's going to her time going through this.

“It’ll be dinner time by the time you decide.”

She closes the menu abruptly. “Okay then. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Are you sure? I can wait for you to decide. We have all day.” I don’t want her to defer to me. I’d rather she took her sweet time looking through the menu.

“No, no. I can never make my mind up when it comes to food. Why don’t you go ahead and order whatever you want, and I’ll pick at it.”

I can’t imagine Molly picking at food.

“Fine.”

She leaves the study just as I place the call to room service and pancakes, pastries, fruit and bacon. I don’t usually eat much for breakfast, but I don’t want to deprive Molly.

I hang up, but I’m not too eager to get back to work. I wander out of the study, only to find her sitting on the couch, staring dreamily out of the windows. I lower my head, engulfed by shame me for doing this to her.

“Your clothes arrived,” I tell her, hoping to cheer her up. The courier dropped the packages off earlier.

“My clothes?”

“The ones my assistant ordered.” I fetch the packages from my study and hand her hers. “Open it.”

She jumps to her feet, takes the big parcel then drops to the floor where she tears open the package and pulls out all the neatly folded clothes.

Her face drops. I’m guessing it’s because of the assortment of muted colors which, if I’m being honest, are boring. Not Molly-esque at all. Which is why I made her get them. The palette consists of light colors—stone, taupe and charcoal.

She holds a shapeless oatmeal colored sweater against herself.

“Enzo.” Her dull eyes settle on me.

“That’s nice.” I try to sound enthusiastic.

“I look like porridge.”

She does have a point. “The look we were going for is ‘forgettable’.”

Not amused, she pulls out another one.

“That's taupe.”

“I’ve become the curtains in an old people’s home.”

I stifle a laugh.

“And that’s exactly why we chose them. We don’t want to draw attention to you,” I remind her.

Her eyes slide over me. “You're always so smart and stylish. Like you belong on the cover of a magazine.”

Is that what she thinks?

“Thank you for the compliment.”