The appearance of our waitress stops my reply. She takes our drink orders and then swiftly leaves.
“Kind of,” I answer when we’re alone again. “One of my final projects in design school was to help create the costumes for a play about the French Revolution. I poured over art from that era, and read books on the lives of people during that time.
“Anything I could get my hands on to bring the designs to life.”
“How did it turn out?” he inquires, fully engulfed in my excitement.
“I—” I stop, but this time it has nothing to do with the return of our waitress. For a few beats I watch as she pours the red wine into our glasses and then places bread, olives, and cheese at the center of the table.
She tells us why each item was chosen for this particular bottle of wine. But I don’t hear much of the explanation.
I stare as she walks away. “I never got to finish it.”
Andreas’ expression turns serious.
“It was my capstone project to complete my degree, but …” I sigh and go to run my hand over my hair, but then remember I’ve styled it in curls. My hand drops to my lap.
“When my parents found out that I was doing a degree in fashion design they insisted that I drop out.”
His face hardens. “That’s why you never completed your degree.”
I nod. “The program they were paying for was my undergraduate and graduate degree in finance. I was in a five-year program that, upon completion, supplied me with my bachelor’s and master’s of business administration.
“Because I have a good memory, I was always pretty decent with numbers.”
“But that’s never where your heart was.” He makes it a statement and not a question.
“Never,” I agree. “But my parents wouldn’t approve of me getting a degree in anything having to do with fashion. So, I secretly applied during my junior year. I was accepted, and because I already had a heavy courseload I convinced my parents that I had to stay in the city during the summers to take classes.”
“And you took your design classes instead?”
I incline my head.
“Let me get this straight, you were doing three different degree programs at once?” he asks with lifted brows.
I laugh slightly before picking up my glass of wine. “Don’t look so impressed. I was only doing an associate's degree.”
His eyes narrow. “Only? Do you know how many people wish they could complete their associate’s degree?”
I pinch my lips together. “I never got the chance to finish.”
“What happened?”
“I got sloppy.” I spin the wine glass around and around on the table as I recount those days a month before my graduation.
“The financial aid department got a hold of my home address in Michigan. They ended up sending one of my documents there instead of the NYC address I regularly gave. My parents saw the papers and called the office.
“My dad knows a lot of university administrators and he found out through his network that I was a student at the institute.”
Andreas’ face balls in anger. “Isn’t that a violation of student privacy?” He sounds incredulous. “You were over eighteen.”
I shrug again. “You know people with connections can easily get around policies and laws.”
He frowns but nods.
“They showed up at my apartment one morning and insisted I drop out of the program or they would refuse to finish paying tuition at my other school, my rent, and I would be on the hook for what they paid for my schooling up until then.
“That was in the six-figure range. I didn’t feel like I had a choice, so I dropped out.”
