I shake my head, a self-deprecating smile tugging at my lips. “You’re biased.”
“Perhaps,” he concedes with a wink, “but trust me, Emery, you’ll be just fine. Plus, I need to run a few special errands myself today.” A knowing grin spreads on his face as he reaches for his bedside table. I frown as he fishes out his wallet and hands me a metal card. “Here. Go crazy, darling. Buy whatever you desire.” His eyes darken. “Maybe something we can take offtogether.”
“I have my own money,” I say warily, mildly intrigued with the idea of a game of show and tell. I wonder if he likes lace. Perhaps silk. Hmm… He might be a leather man.
He reins in a laugh. “I’m aware that you’re a self-sufficient woman, little Emery.” He nods down to the credit card. “But we both know Cavanaugh might be tracking your spending. Just use it,please.”
A cold shiver creeps up my spine. He’s right. Damon has all the means to track me. No. I can’t think about him right now. Not ever. It’s over. He’s no longer a thought. He can’t be.
“Fine.” I aggressively snatch the credit card and stand up in a huff. “I’ll be sure to put your Amex to very good use today.” I arch a brow. “Is there a limit?”
Quin smirks. “Not for you, darling. Never for you.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes, mentally preparing myself for social torment. Before I exit back into my own room, I glance over my shoulder. “Oh, and a helicopter? To go shopping? I find that incredibly pretentious.”
Quinton grins. “Or you hate that you love it.” He wiggles his fingers at me. “Enjoy yourself, Emery darling. Andtryto have fun.”
This is torture.
The boutiques in Perreau Hills are like a labyrinth of wealth, each store more lavish than the last. As Sophie and I step into the sixth shop, my senses are immediately assaulted by a wild array of colors, textures, and scents. God, the scents. Are they trying to suffocate us? My palms sweat, shoulders sagging. Sophie, on the other hand, vibrates with excitement. God…what drugs issheon?
“Isn’t this just fabulous, darling?” she sings, running her fingers along the racks of designer clothes. She gasps, yanking asilver evening gown off the rack. “This one’s gorgeous! Youmusttry it on!”
“It’s nice.” I reach for the price tag, my eyes bugging out of their sockets. “Nine thousand franc?!” I whisper in a harsh tone. “That is?—”
“A steal!” Sophie waves her hand at a nearby associate. “Yes, hi! We’d love to try this on, please.” The associate scurries over, taking the gown from her hand. Sophie faces me, her enthusiasm damn near contagious. “Well! Go on now.”
I stare at the gown for a few seconds before reluctantly heading to the changing room. The silk feels luxurious against my fingers as I hold the dress. But the price tag? Jesus. Who spends this type of cash on fabric? I sigh, stepping into the changing room. As I slip on the dress, the fabric cascades down my body like liquid silver, and for a fleeting moment, I feel like royalty. It's breathtaking. I can't deny that. But honestly, I don’t feel worthy of something so beautiful. Not when I know my insides are so fucking ugly.
When I step out of the dressing room, Sophie lets out an actual gasp. "Emery, you look positively radiant!" Her tone turns deceptively casual as she says, “That silhouette is perfect on you. The bodice is very similar to the gown you wore to the Marquis Black and White Ball, isn’t it?”
My posture tenses as I step in front of the floor-length mirror. Sophie appears beside me as we both stare into the reflection.
She shoots me a cunning smile. “I saw photos in the paper. You and Damon looked like quite the pair that evening.” Unease stirs inside of me, and I dread her incoming line of questioning. Sophie examines the hem of my strap, fixing the twists. “Tell me, darling, howdidyou meet Damon?” Her gaze flicks to the mirror, and fierce, protective energy gleams in her irises. “Mmm?”
“I was headhunted by Cavanaugh Industries.” I swallow, my heart skipping a beat as I relay the original lie. “We met when he interviewed me.”
Sophie raises an eyebrow, clearly wary of my response. “And Quinton? How did he come into the picture?”
I pretend to fiddle with the bodice, my fingers tugging the delicate fabric. “Damon and I bumped into Quinton at a restaurant shortly after we started working together. He was…”Breathe. “He was on a date.”
Sophie purses her shiny plump lips. “I see.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, but the unease inside me continues to grow as Sophie probes further into my history with the two men. We’ve spun a tangled web of lies, and now I’m hopelessly trapped in a disastrous mess of half-truths and omissions.
“Well…” Sophie releases an animated sigh. “From what I’ve heard from my little birds in Manhattan, my brother is often ondates.” She glances at me, searching for more deceit. “He wasn’t always like that. You know…” Her tone turns venomous. “Before that little bitch fucked him up.”
Pain grips my chest. “Alison?” Her name tumbles out of my mouth like a destructive boulder.
Sophie’s brows knit together as if I wasn’t supposed to know. “Before Alison, my brother and Damon were quite close. Almost strangely close. Did you know that?” I shake my head, bewildered. “And then just like that,” she snaps her fingers, “it all fell apart.” She tilts her head. “Do you know why?” She pauses, waiting for a response, but I have none. “Because Alison couldn’t make up her mind. She couldn’t decide which of these foolish boys to permanently sink her claws into.”
“Yeah…” I swallow. “I’ve heard snippets of that…situation.” Friends? Damon and Quinton? I can’t picture it. Not at all.
Sophie’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Well, darling, I just hope that history doesn’t repeat itself.” She tilts her head. “Will it?”
The intensity of Sophie’s question sends shockwaves through me, shattering the fragile facade I’ve been trying to maintain. Does she know? Can she sense my confusion? Can she tell that I’m trapped? That I’m involved, in one way or another, with both of them?
“Quin and I are just friends,” I manage. “That’s all.”
