"You've been quiet lately. Everything okay?"
I force a smile. "Just tired. School was exhausting, and now all this..." I gesture vaguely, meaning the marriage discussions, the pressure, everything. He nods, but I can tell he doesn't quitebelieve me. Romeo has always been able to read me better than anyone.
"Have fun," he says finally. "Tell Liesl I said hi."
"I will."
My father barely looks up when I leave. He's already on a call, already distracted by business. The driver loads my bag into the car. One of my father's men settles into the passenger seat—my security for the day. I give them Liesl's address in the West Village, and we pull away from the house.
I watch it disappear in the rearview mirror, and I wonder who I’ll be by the time I come back here. How I’ll feel if I go through with this.
—
Liesl's apartmentis exactly what I expected, bright and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a tree-lined street. She opens the door with a squeal, pulling me into a hug immediately. "You look amazing," she says, holding me at arm's length after a moment. "God, I've missed you."
"I've missed you too."
My security is standing in the hallway, looking uncomfortable. Liesl glances at him, then at me, understanding immediately.
"I'll be fine," I tell him. "You can wait downstairs. I'll text if I need anything. Tell whoever relieves you the same thing."
He hesitates. "Your father said?—"
"I'm staying with a friend in her apartment. What could possibly happen?" I keep my voice light, reasonable. "I'll text you when I'm ready to leave tomorrow."
He doesn't look happy about it, but he nods. "I'll be in the lobby if you need me."
"Thank you."
Liesl closes the door behind him, and suddenly we're alone. "Security?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.
I shrug. "My father's paranoid."
"I mean, given who your father is..." She trails off, grinning. "Come on, I'll give you the tour."
The apartment is beautiful. Liesl shows me around, chattering about her job at an art gallery, about the guy she's been seeing, and life in the city. As the daughter of a Swiss billionaire, she has much more freedom than I ever will. She’s an heiress with very little responsibility, and I’ve often been jealous of her for it, although I try not to be. I listen and smile and try to be present, but part of my mind is already racing ahead to tonight.
"You okay?" Liesl asks, studying my face. "You seem distracted."
"Just tired," I lie. "It's been a lot lately."
"Your father's still pushing the marriage thing?"
"He's making his decision within the month."
"Jesus." She pours us both generous glasses of wine. "That's medieval."
I manage a small, wry smile. "That's my life."
We settle on her couch, and for a while, it's almost normal. We talk about school and mutual friends. Liesl orders Thai food, and we eat straight from the containers, laughing about teachers we hated. She tells me about her new job and the artists she's working with, and the freedom of living alone in the city.
I listen and ache with envy. This is what I want. This independence, this choice, this life that's hers and no one else's. But I'll never have it. In a month, I'll be engaged. In six months, married. And this kind of freedom will be nothing but a memory.
"You're doing it again," Liesl says. "Going somewhere in your head."
"Sorry. I'm just..." I search for words. "I'm just trying to figure out how to be okay with everything."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You don't have to be okay with it. It's not okay."
