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When we get to the store, Rory parks on the street outside. I’m not sure it’s legal to leave a car here, but he doesn’t give a shit. He jumps out and, as always, comes to help me out.
Putting an arm around my waist, his hand resting on my hip in a proprietorial manner, Rory steers me into the store. As we pass the liveried doorman, I feel scruffy in my blue jeans and the white blouse I bought from the clothing section in my local grocery store.
When I packed my bag, I grabbed comfortable clothing for a life on the run. I didn’t plan for something like this and I feel about of place.
Rory, on the other hand, gives no indication of possessing an inferiority complex. Why would he? His suit is custom made to show off his impressive frame to perfection. His shoes are of the finest Italian leather. I hate to think what the watch on his wrist cost, but I’m willing to bet it was more than his car.
We’re walking toward the escalators when a woman approaches. She’s a petite brunette, with a slim figure and a warm smile.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Donovan?” she asks. “The other Mrs. Donovan said you’d be coming by. I’m Rachel and I’m here to assist you with whatever you need.”
Though her manner is friendly and professional, I detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. I guess she knows who the Donovans are.
“Thanks, Rachel,” I give her a smile that I hope will help her feel more at ease. “I need a nice dress for a family dinner.”
Rory shakes his head. “She needs a new wardrobe, everything from lingerie to an overcoat.” He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Don’t argue.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I mutter as Rachel makes notes on her iPad.
“Right this way,” Rachel says, walking ahead of us.
I glower at Rory. “If you want to waste money on your fake wife, who am I to stop you?”
I regret my words the minute I say them. Rory tightens his grip on me.
“Watch yourself, Eleanor,” he warns. “Don’t be foolish enough to imagine I won’t punish you in a public place.”
I open my mouth to offer some retort, and then snap it shut. Why am I trying to pick a fight with him. Antagonizing him doesn’t help my situation and, besides, it’s not five minutes since I decided I should just go with the flow and accept whatever he wanted to buy for me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper as we follow Rachel through the store to the elevators.
Rory doesn’t respond. He pulls me into the elevator. We ascend in silence, emerging into what looks like a hotel lobby, with tables and chairs dotted around. There are several other customers here.
“Can we offer you some refreshments?” Rachel asks,
“We’ll take some sparkling water,” Rory replies on my behalf.
“Uh, still for me,” I interject. “I don’t like sparkling.”
“Okay,” Rachel says, “Why don’t you take a seat while I gather a few things for you to try on?”
“Thank you.”
As she walks off, I take a seat on one of the high-backed armchairs. Rory sits opposite me.
“This place is nice,” I say, trying to break the tension between us. “I hope Rachel can find something suitable for tomorrow night.”
“She will,” Rory replies. “It’s what she’s paid to do.”
“Should we get Andrew a present while we’re here?”
“No, I already got him a watch and a bottle of Balvenie Portwood.”
I don’t know what that is but I’m guessing it’s an expensive whisky since Libby said that was one of the things he likes.
Silence descends between us. I’m not sure if Rory is angry or hurt. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. I wasn’t exactly grateful that he plans to buy me a whole new set of clothes.
As he takes out his cellphone and scrolls through his messages, I pick up the magazine lying on the table in front of me and read a couple of articles.
