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It was a lacy emerald silk with a hint of turquoise. It was so freaking pretty and soft and looked like it cost more than my entire wardrobe combined.
Tristan wore drugstore flip-flops everywhere. He couldn’t afford this. Maybe he won the lottery, or found some priceless relic on a sidewalk that he then pawned. Maybe I was completely off-base on what the dress cost, and Tristan was actually a skilled thrifter. He did buy his own clothes that way. But the dress looked, felt, and smelled brand spanking new.
Instead of focusing on thehow, I focused on thenow.
If I was going to make our meeting, I needed to get ready. I freshened up my makeup and hair, then put on the dress. It fit perfectly, hugging my curves in a smoking hot way, while falling comfortably just above the knee. I felt gorgeous, and the color really complemented my hair. However he’d found this, Tristan should forever be in charge of picking all my clothes because he was clearly better at it than I was.
All set, and ridiculously excited to see where I was going, I headed out to the address on the notecard.
It was a longer walk than I’d expected, and I regretted wearing high heels after only a few blocks. Streetlights kicked on to fight the slow dimming of the sky. I left behind the area of the city I was used to, and stepped into what felt like another world—one where limos and sports cars filled the streets, one where tiny dogs were carried in purses and every single woman seemed to be wearing an entire museum’s worth of diamonds.
I paused at the corner of Acorn Street, the excited buzz that had carried me here dulling. I didn’t belong here. Tristan didn’t belong here. Why had he chosen this place? There were probably secret security guards at this meeting of the two worlds, bouncers to keep out people wearing yellow flip flops, and people like me.
What if the surprise really is that Tristan won the lottery? Money changed people, and not for the better.
I continued up to a gorgeous building made of stone and glass that looked like a tiny European castle that had been teleported into the wrong time on the wrong continent. It was a restaurant markedBelle Âmewith a vintage wood sign.
Curiosity mingling with a new level of concern, I walked up to the door and stepped inside. No one stopped me.
Inside, the vibe was even more ridiculous. A constellation of glistening crystal chandeliers hung overhead. The lighting was subdued, warm, and intimate.
It felt like a dream. The only way someone like me was supposed to set foot in a place like this was in some bizarro reality where the rules of existence were flipped.
The concierge—a very stiff dude with a thin mustache and a crisp suit—looked at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to meet a friend.”
“Are you Morgan?”
“I am.”
“Follow me, please.”
He led me through a labyrinth of stone archways to a private table, where Tristan sat waiting in a full suit. I felt dizzy.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he rose from his seat.
My stomach did a flippity flop. It was funny, because I’d seen him every day for the last week, and the novelty of it never seemed to fade. If anything, the impact of his presence hit me harder every time.
We sat down.
A crisp white tablecloth was draped over the table. Fancy china, gleaming silverware, and an elaborate centerpiece of fresh flowers sat on top.
You don’t belong here, Morgan. This kind of opulence isn’t meant for you.
“You look stunning,” he said.
“Thanks. You do too.” I grinned at him. “You bought me a dress. You did buy it, right? You didn’t walk out this morning only to learn you make a great thief? If you expect me to dine and dash, that is sonotgoing to work for me.”
I was babbling. I needed to stop babbling.
Tristan’s green and brown eyes crinkled ever so slightly in amusement. “Don’t worry. I bought the dress.”
“Why?” I asked. “And wait…what about the dashing. You didn’t deny the dashing.”
“No dashing. I’ll pay for the meal as well.”
Where did all this money come from?The air seemed heavier all of the sudden, slowly pressing down against my skin.
