Page 103 of The Unraveling

I respond, the shopper woman is literally grabbing some kind of diamonds to go with it.

She answers, omg that’ll look so good with that pink. How are you tan, you’re in LONDON.

I answer, that Louisiana poor kid tan just never left me.

She says, lol, just as Laura bustles back in.

“Okay, darling, I’ve got a few options.”

She drapes diamond necklaces over my collarbone as I look on in the mirror, again feeling like I’m in Pretty Woman.

“I like this, but it won’t work without the matching earrings. But this looks nice with the studs you’re wearing. These are real, correct?” She flicks my earlobe.

Proudly, I respond, “Yes.” I stop just short of adding that I bought them myself.

“We’ll need bigger ones to make the look work. Take them out.”

She doesn’t mean any harm, but I feel a little slapped by this. I put them safely into my purse and then allow her to put much bigger ones into my ears.

The effect is stunning. I feel like Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, only instead of a tiara, I’m in a long delicate diamond chain and matching earrings.

She picks out a few pairs of shoes and I go with a strappy pair in the same shade of pink by a designer I don’t recognize.

I pick a few other items, feeling shy and that maybe I look like I’m taking advantage, and then she packages them up for me. Someone brings them downstairs for me, and just as I’m becoming aware that I’ll have to walk out onto the city streets with thirty thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise, I’m informed that there is a car waiting for me outside.

I get into the back of it and the driver takes me to Ivory Towers, where the doorman retrieves my packages, and I walk upstairs empty-handed.

Rich people really just don’t have to do anything, do they?

Upstairs, I get ready using my own makeup. I do a simple look with clean skin, light mascara, and a pale pink lip. I don’t have the skill or will to do anything much with my hair, so I put it back in a slick ponytail and call it a day.

I consider the fact that there’s no glam squad waiting a confirmation that Clementine is not involved in any of this. A woman would have known that with a five-thousand-dollar dress and many more thousands’ worth of jewelry, you should not leave someone like me to my own devices with the rest.

At eight forty-five sharp I’m waiting in the lobby and I see headlights pull up out front, checking to make sure there’s no one around, conscious of not wanting to be seen with him in case it’s another shit show.

My phone buzzes. A text from Alistair.

Here. Come.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The car has completely opaque blackout windows, and the driver opens the door covertly and I see Alistair subtly shielding his face, I assume in case anyone happens by as I climb in.

I slide into the back seat with Alistair and see that I was correct to assume he would be alone.

“Will Clementine be at this event?” I ask anyway.

“No.”

“Did you…tell her about—”

“Of course not.”

I nod, feeling embarrassed. “Right.”

The car takes off.

“Champagne?” he asks, pulling two glasses from a built-in bar.

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