“You have a ‘man’?”I laugh out loud.“Good heavens.”
Richard frowns, his shoulders slumping.
“It’s like a bad Hallmark movie.”I clear my throat.“Sorry.Was that rude?”I shrug.“American.”
“It’s not a get out of jail free card,” Aodhán hisses.“You can still try to be polite.”
I sigh.“And I suppose you have a dress waiting for me, and women to do my hair and nails upstairs?”
“There’s a dress, but I think we’d need more than thirty minutes to try and fix that,” the maid mutters.
“Wow.”I laugh.“So there is a little fire in there.”
“Redheads,” Aodhán says.“Too much fire, if you ask me.”
“Which exactly no one is,” I say.“Well, as long as no one’s planning to paint my nails or change my hair.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Richard says.“And if the dresses don’t work, just wear what you’re wearing.I may have done too much searching online when I was planning this date.”He looks a little embarrassed, actually, and I kind of love it.
He’s about as different from Brent as I could imagine.
Racing horses and picking between multiple dresses for a chef-made dinner?Instead of being such a butthead, I should be jogging up the stairs with a giggle cascading after me.“Fine.”I cough.“Well, let’s go see what you got.”
Once I climb nineteen thousand steps to the very lofty second floor and follow the red-haired maid to the far left wing, I find a whole rack of dresses in size six, eight, and ten.UK sizes aren’t exactly great for my self-esteem—I’m pretty sure I’ll need at least a ten.I guess Richard’s not the kind of guy who can look at a woman and guess her size, but neither did he assume bizarrely large or small sizes, which I appreciate.He has been married before, so I bet that helps.
The maid’s grinning.“He told me you were very tall, but very thin, and he had no idea what size you might be.”She shrugs.“Sorry.”
“Honestly, I never know until I try something on myself.”As I peruse the sparkling, shimmery, chiffon, and slinky fabrics, I can’t help my smile.It’s corny, but I’ve never touched a Prada, a Versace, or a Valentino dress in my life.I stop on a burgundy Victoria Beckham dress.It’s asymmetrical, which I like, and it’s a deep, rich color that won’t wash out my skin and hair, and it’s a size ten.There’s a raw edge on the places the fabric meets, and there’s pretty, joined bunching over my midsection and at the top of the bodice.
Both of those seem promising.
I step into the shower for two minutes, then I towel off and put on some of the light, rose lotion that was on the counter.When I slide into the Beckham dress, I don’t feel stinky and gross from riding.
I feel...like a princess.
The dress only makes me feelfancier.And once I try it on, I never want to give it back.I wonder whether it’s a loan or a gift...I’ll have to brace myself to ask.I’m on my way to taste-test the food from three fancy private chefs, and I can’t help thinking that the plain black, ankle-strap pumps with tiny flowers on the toe that I chose—Valentino—aren’t very close to glass slippers.
Even so, I’ve never felt more like Cinderella in my entire life.
Why did Natalie say Richard was bad at this?
He’s wearing atuxwhen I walk into the dining room, and he looks great.I’m relieved I didn’t opt to keep wearing my stinky riding gear.His mouth curves into a half-smile when he sees me, and then he shakes his head tightly.“Wow.”
I roll my eyes.“You’re the one who bought it.”
He chuckles.“That dress should only exist for you.I’m quite sure it wouldn’t look half as good on anyone else.”
“What a corny line.”
He shrugs.“It’s not a line, Samantha.It’s true.You always look great, but tonight, you’re spectacular.”
My heart stutters, and I can’t help it.I’m...moved.I wish I didn’t have a broken uterus.I wish this happily ever after could be mine.I wish it wasn’t a stupid, temporary fairy tale I was trying on while I’m lying to this very nice man.
“Here.”He waves his people off and stands, pulling my chair out for me.“Sit, please.”
The next three courses—salads, soups, and three different roasted bird dishes—are some of the best food I’ve ever tried.Richard makes me vote on each.They put each chef on a different style of china so it’s easy to keep them straight.
“It’s hard,” I say.Almost as hard as staring at his beautiful face, knowing I need to tell him that he and I are doomed.“They’re all really talented.”
