“You live here?” I squeak, though it’s self-evident.
Zach peers at me before his eyes flicker along the walls, so quickly they mustn’t see what I’m seeing. “Yeah.” When I still don’t catch up to him, he stops, a hand resting on his hip. “You get used to it.”
I nod, not believing anybody except a fully fledged royal could get used to such opulence in anything less than a lifetime. His patience with my dumbfounded response soon wears thin, and Zach grabs my hand, tugging me along another two corridors before we stop at a room which could easily fit my entire flat.
“In here,” he says shortly, leading me into a walk-in wardrobe so large there’s a chair and chaise lounge for resting halfway along one side. Shelves full of shoes use up the end wall while clothes hang from a pole along the left-hand side and are carefully folded into cubbies on the right.
“Try this.” Zach picks out an ivory suit and holds it against my body.
I glance around, expecting a saleslady with a tag to direct me into the nearest free changing room.
“I’ll wait outside,” he says, surprising me. When the double doors pull gently closed, I struggle out of my jeans and unbutton my blouse.
The tags are still on the suit. If I had been worried about wearing second hand, it would have evaporated. I check some other items, a flowering dress in hand painted silk, a silver sheath that flows like it’s made from molten metal. None of them have been worn.
When Zach clears his throat in the adjacent room, I remember myself and quickly pull on the suit. There’s a faint blush to the colouring that makes it almost the same tone as my skin.
The legs trail onto the floor, but the top and pants fit to my body without being snug. I tuck up the cuffs and walk out, holding my hands across my fluttering abdomen as I wait for judgement.
“Much better.” Zach strides past me and pulls a pair of shocking pink stacked heels from the assortment of shoes before removing a soft leather coat from its hanger. “Here.”
The shoes are Versace. The coat, Stolen Girlfriends Club. It becomes hard to swallow as I count the cost of my borrowed outfit and find it reaching into the high thousands, maybe more.
Zach peers at the long trouser legs, still trailing even with the heels. “Perhaps I should find you a dress or skirt.”
“D’you have a needle and thread? I can tack up the hems, so they don’t drag.”
His face is blank, but he hits a button near the door. It crackles and a man’s voice answers, “Yes, Mr Cameron?”
“Do we have a sewing kit?”
Not even a second’s hesitation. “I’ll send Marie up with one.”
When Zach walks back to me, my face must be a window into my shock because his smirk returns at full force. “What? You don’t have servants?”
“Sure. Finley’s on retainer.”
I walk back into the wardrobe to change out of the outfit, but before I can step into my jeans, Zach follows along behind. “Don’t put those back on.” The tone is commanding more than suggesting. “Wear this.”
He pulls out a knee length cashmere dress with a high front and a large keyhole in the back. Without stopping to consider the request, I pull it over my head, immediately seduced by the soft warmth.
Zach tugs me back against him as I turn to examine my reflection in the wall-length mirror. “You can’t wear a bra with this,” he scolds me, unfastening it and bunching up the arms until he can hook out the straps and pull the entire contraption free. “Much better,” he mumbles, the words crushed against the skin of my back as he moves his mouth over me.
I step away, my face flushed as a spear of danger pierces through my mental fog. My heart hammers against my rib cage as I stare at him, hands half raised in defence.
A knock at the door interrupts and he answers it, taking the offered kit with a nod before closing us into the room alone again. “Your sewing supplies,” he says in a saccharine voice, raising the container.
I set to work, glad to have a distraction. There’s an array of miniature rolls of thread and I select the nearest colour before picking a needle.
“Who taught you to sew?”
“Learnt at intermediate school. Why? Didn’t they teach you such vaulted subjects as threading a needle and boiling an egg at yours?”
“No. It was all about diversifying your share portfolio.”
“Such an important life skill.” I’m grinning as I tack up the hem. “Does your dad have a lot of ex-girlfriends or is this haul all from one?”
“There are so many I don’t learn their names any longer. Just mumble something ending with a Y and I’m good to go.” When I glance at his face, Zach seems lost in a reverie. “They’re all carbon copies of each other; tall, blonde, glamourous, replaceable. Lost my virginity to one of them when she wanted to hit him below the belt on her way out.”
