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Though I haven’t eaten, my stomach still feels like a leaden ball. As much as I want to make Reed Riviera pay for leaving me and my mother in squalor while he lived the high life, and room services seems a good place to start, I don’t think I can stomach even looking at food. Maybe I should order every item on the menu and have it delivered to the room only to just take a bite out of everything. The thought is tempting, but I’ve lived for so long with nothing that I can’t bring myself to disrespect food like that. The thought of such gluttony, even if it isn’t at my expense, turns my stomach.
Instead, I wander into the luxurious bathroom. The bath is long and deep with spray jets positioned along the sides. I wonder how long this personal shopper will take to bring me some clean clothes. As much as I’m tempted to soak in the bath, I don’t want to be in there when she arrives. I’m also aware that lying in a bath will give me time to think, and I don’t want that either. Figuring it will be quicker, I turn on the huge walk-in shower, and then I find my classic rock music playlist on Spotify and turn up my phone as loud as it will go. There’s probablysome kind of music system in the room that I could plug my phone into or connect to Bluetooth, but I don’t have the patience to try to figure it out.
The hotel has provided all the toiletries I could need, and I click open the top of the shampoo bottle and inhale the citrusy fragrance. It takes me back to the moment outside of the hotel room door where I’d inhaled Reed’s cologne. He certainly doesn’t come across as a father figure, even though he’s got two biological sons he must have at least partly raised.
I strip off my clothes and step beneath the steamy shower. I lift my chin and let the water drum across my forehead cheeks and eyes. Memories of finding my mother’s body try to force their way into my head. I think of how cold her skin was to touch, how immobile her body had been when I tried to lift her, and I let out a cry of grief.
No, no, no.This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid. I don’t want to feel this, don’t want to process it. I knew it was coming—I had known for years. This shouldn’t be a shock to me.
And yet it is.
I force my thoughts away and focus instead on the music. I open my mouth to sing along, but my voice sounds forced and mechanical. That panicky sensation fills me again, my heart fluttering, my breath hard to catch. Though I’m still in the shower, with steaming hot water coursing down my body, my skin prickles with goosebumps, as though I’m chilled.
I finish washing my hair and turn off the water, wanting to get out of there. I suddenly wish Reed had stayed. I realize he never gave me a way of contacting him. I don’t even have his cell number. All I can do is wait until he returns.
Not wanting to dress in my dirty clothes, I find a thick white robe and sit on the edge of the bed, working the knots out of my hair with a flimsy black comb, also supplied by the hotel. I turnon the television, wanting to drown out my thoughts, and sit there, losing track of time.
A knock startles me, and I jump to my feet. I open the door to find a woman in her forties outside. She’s well dressed and has a portable rail with a cover over it beside her. It takes me a moment to piece together who she is or what she might want.
“Miss Flores?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes?”
“My name is Anna. Mr. Riviera asked me to find you some clothes.”
There’s a hint of an accent to her voice, but I can’t quite place it. I realize who the woman is—the personal shopper Reed hired.
I blink and then remember my manners. “Yes, of course. Come in. That was quick.”
“I’m good at what I do.” She frowns and glances me up and down. “I hope Mr. Riviera was accurate with his sizes.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would need to pass on my clothes size to this woman. I suddenly realize that was probably the reason he’d been studying me earlier. My perverted mind had assumed he was thinking of me with no underwear on. I must be sick in the head. The man is my stepfather, and he probably just sees me as a little girl.
I shut the door behind Anna, and she unzips the cover from the rail, revealing a selection of clothes. She rifles through them, selecting certain outfits and tossing them to the bed.
“I suggest you start by trying these on,” she says. “We want you to have a capsule wardrobe and then you can layer from that.”
I look helplessly at the selection of clothes. A capsule wardrobe? I’m not even sure what that is.
“I’m happy just to have a couple of pairs of jeans and some t-shirts,” I tell her.
She widens her eyes at me in horror. “You cannot wear jeans to a concert hall.”
I sigh. “Okay, what do I need to wear then?”
I’ll put myself in this woman’s hands—she can do whatever she wants with me. I don’t even care.
First she finds me a black, lacy thong and a strapless bra and waits while I put them on, still huddled inside the white fluffy folds on the robe.
She goes back to the rail and selects a couple of dresses.
She motions to the robe. “You’re going to have to take that off.”
I’m reluctant to let it go, but I have no choice. I stand like a mannequin as she slips various dresses and outfits over my head until she finds one she likes.
“This one goes perfectly with your coloring,” she says and then stares at me. “Your eyes are the most unusual shade of blue.”
My face heats. “Thanks,” I mutter.
