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I left a while later, the photo she had given me hidden away in the lining of my bag, my heart singing fit to burst, and wishing more than anything I could share this news with someone.
I found Nicky pacing outside Mom’s room, looking very peeved. “Where have you been? I’ve called you four times!”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I just, erm, you know how it is sometimes…”
Luckily, he looked more relieved than angry.
Leaving him outside, I went in to spend a very fidgety couple of hours with Mom.
She asked me all about Marco as she usually did, her eyes lighting up when I said everything was well. I felt guilty about the scan photo hidden in my bag. And also that I couldn’t tell her anything about Chiara’s troubles—Marco wouldn’t want me to.
I busied myself showing her the videos I’d made of my latest experiments with dried floral bouquets in dark epoxy resin.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said, though I knew full well I had some way to go. I showed her a video on Instagram that had inspired me, and she gave me some ideas for what other types of flowers I could try using.
After my visit with Mom, I headed to the shops to pick up some art and craft supplies for Chiara. I had noticed she liked to fiddle with her fingers, pleating paper, making origami shapes out of napkins, dipping her fingertips into candle wax and peeling off the little shells. All things I had loved doing once too, my creative urge fighting to express itself.
I bought an origami set with some lovely colourful papers, a couple of diamond painting kits, and a bunch of glues and paints and beads and other crafting essentials. I got her a few glossy magazines to leaf through, including travel ones with gorgeous images of the world to inspire her that she had a big bright future to look forward to.
I wasn’t sure if she would like them, but it was healthier than constantly scrolling on screens, wasn’t it? It might be a nice distraction.
Chiara was smart and snarky, but all I knew of her hobbies were that she liked to play tennis. And she couldn’t do that in her sickbed.
I grabbed a sandwich to eat while Nicky took me to the salon, and one for him to eat while he was waiting for me, since he had declined my offer to grab a hot burger earlier.
He must have been given instructions not to interact with me, because he was always monosyllabic. I had long given up trying to make awkward chit chat.
At the salon, my usual hairdresser examined my hair, asked me if I wanted a style and colour change, and was disappointed I had only come for a trim.
“It’s grown so long! You can do some wonderful things with it. Will you at least let me curl it for you afterwards? You’ll look so cute with curls!”
I shook my head. I could imagine how frivolous Vittoria would think me if I came home with bouncy curls, rubbing a pampering session in her face.
It bothered me how much I cared about her opinion, but I couldn’t shake my desire to prove to her I was a good person really.
I was glad when my cut and blowout were over. I left a generous tip, then told Nicky, “You can wait here. I just need to pop to the loo just round the corner.”
He nodded, but to my annoyance, followed me there.
My nerves wound up tight as we approached the door. This public toilet was accessible to several stores, and I had told Toby to approach it from the opposite corridor, away from the salon. I had no idea if he was already inside or not.
Nicky didn’t seem overly suspicious though. He followed me idly, just doing his job.
I hurried ahead of him and tapped at the door just once, as if I had inadvertently knocked into it. I heard the lock click open from the inside.
I opened the door and hurried in to the large wheelchair-access sized room, and I was utterly relieved to find Toby inside. I had given him an exact time, but the plan could have fallen apart for any reason, least of all if the toilet had been out-of-order today.
He whistled appreciatively at my sleek hair and pretty white and pink summery skirt and bare legs ending in cute nude heels.
“Hush!” I said, aware that the door was thin and Nicky was loitering nearby.
“You never cleaned up like that for me,” Toby whispered.
I had worn jeans for him. Because I liked them. Because it was good to change out of the Bordello dresses at the end of a long day. But these past weeks, I’d felt like a lady of leisure. It had been a welcome respite from my usual hectic life.
I flushed a little as I acknowledged to myself that I liked looking pretty for Marco. I liked seeing that hunter’s look in his eyes when they skimmed the hem of my skirt, that dirty little smirk he gave me letting me know he was already anticipating taking it off me later. Stripping me bare. Taunting me with the smooth caress of his fingers.
Toby cast me a knowing look that stiffened my back in outrage.
