She told me the price. It was enough for half a year’s tuition.
“Do you make commission here?” I asked.
She glanced around and then lowered her voice subtly. “I’m saving up for a semester abroad. University is free here, but not in other countries. I want to see the world.”
I smiled. “In that case I’ll take it.”
“The lady dares again,” she crowed. “It’s stunning. Will you take it with you now?”
“I don’t think it goes with the dress, but please send it up, and thank you for all your help.”
I’d decided to take myself on a date at the hotel bar, after this. The last thing I’d need was to have too many drinks and forget where I’d set down my brand new, trazillion dollar purse.
Meanwhile, I sincerely hoped that when Stefan did return from whatever he was out doing with his leggy brunette, the sight of all the shopping bags would give him the kind of heart palpitations I had gotten when I’d spotted him with his mistress.
I felt a little guilty about the whole thing, but then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again. The dress Katharina had calledvavoomwas sleek and slinky, hitting me mid-thigh. The whole thing was held up by tiny little strings criss-crossing my back that could barely be described as straps. I chose to finish off the look with a pair of sky-high stilettos in cherry red. I was ready to have some fun.
* * *
With one ofmy new cashmere wraps in hand, I headed to the restaurant bar. I loved lots of things about Europe, but the drinking age was quickly becoming a favorite. I sat down on a stool and ordered the fruitiest, most ridiculous cocktail I could find on the menu.
Above the bar, the clock read 6:45.
I ignored it.
There was absolutely no way I was going to be meeting Stefan for dinner. I purposefully put my phone away so I wouldn’t even see if he called or texted. He could sit and wait in the restaurant for hours for all I cared. Let him get a taste of how it felt to be someone’s last priority.
I finished my too-sweet drink and ordered another one. I was starting to feel a little buzzed, but I liked it. Besides the occasional glass of champagne at one of my father’s parties or a sip of wine at dinner, I hadn’t done much drinking before this trip. I’d probably already had more alcohol today than I had in my past eighteen years. Europe was wonderful.
My next drink was as ridiculous as the first and tasted just as good. The bartender gave me a crystal dish of fancy olives as well, so I munched on those while sipping my drink through its pink curly straw. I had a feeling the bartender had added that just out of whimsy—nobody else in the place had been given a straw like mine, and I figured that since I wasn’t partaking in the bar’s famous wine list, he was probably just amused by my choice of drink.
I smiled at him as he refilled my pretzel dish. Everyone here was so nice. Nicer than my husband, that’s for sure. At least the hotel staff seemed happy I was here. Probably because I was spending a ton of money and tipping them all so generously, but hey, I would take it. The bartender was definitely going to get a huge tip. I finished my drink and ordered a third.
“I like a woman who knows how to have a good time,” said an accented male voice.
I spun on the stool to find a preppy hot guy on the next seat. He was blonde and compactly built, smiling at me in a crisp patterned shirt. He gave off a vibe of wealth and confidence—like Stefan did, but more relaxed. Way less intense than my husband ever acted.
He was very handsome, very polished and outwardly friendly, but my heart didn’t leap at the sight of him. My pulse didn’t race. My palms didn’t sweat. Still, it was nice to have some company that I hadn’t technically paid for.
“Your accent is different,” I said. “Everyone speaks Austrian around here. But yours is more…French. Where are you from?”
I took another sip of my drink, awaiting his answer expectantly.
“You have a good ear,” he said. “I’m from Rouen. It’s the capital of Normandy, in the north of France. One hundred and thirty-five kilometers from Paris.”
“I only know miles,” I admitted, grinning. This wasn’t so hard, this whole ‘making friends’ in a foreign country thing. Though obviously I was spoiled by his fluency in English.
“It’s about two hours, by car,” he elaborated. “And how about yourself? You are clearly American.”
“I’m from Springfield,” I said. “It’s two hundred miles south of Chicago…that’s three hours, by car. Maybe four if there’s traffic. Actually, there’s always traffic…I’m rambling.”
“May I buy you a drink?” he asked, glancing at my wedding rings.
I gestured at the glass in front of me as if to say, ‘I’m good.’
“Well, perhaps we can keep each other company.”
“I’m okay with that,” I said, taking a healthy swallow of my cocktail.
