Page 22 of My One Week Husband
What’s the worst that could happen?
It could just be fun.
I’ve been all work and no play for three years. I’ve been so focused on building my business, on building walls around my heart, on protecting myself, that maybe the indulgence I need is simply to have a little bit of a good time.
With shoes in hand, both the silver ones for practicality and the sapphire ones for sensuality, we head to the wig shop, and I purchase a few delicious numbers. Then, looking thoroughly Parisian with shopping bags on my shoulders and satchels in my hands, I walk with Nadia through the cobblestone streets as she calls her driver. Soon, we slide into her limo and head across town to my flat as we catch up on all the goings on in her world.
“When will your team’s move to San Francisco go through?” I ask.
“I’ve gotten approval from the league, so the ball is rolling.”
“And you feel good about it?”
“I do. It’s been increasingly hard to convince people in Vegas to come watch football when gambling is drawing their attention. San Francisco seems like the kind of place that can support two teams. Plus, my mom is there, my sister and her husband, my niece, and my brother and his fiancée. It’ll be good to be near family.”
We chat more about her plans, as she tells me how she wants to be close to her mom again, who moved back to her hometown of San Francisco shortly after Nadia’s father died.
“She misses me,” Nadia says, a little wistful. “Especially with Eric getting married soon.”
“It’ll be good for you to be back there. It’s nice to be close to family, isn’t it?” I ask, picturing my parents and how well we get along.
“We’re lucky. To be able to make these choices,” she says, more serious now as she twists the ruby she wears on her right hand—a gift from her dad. “Let’s not forget our good fortune. We have to remember to give back, to do good, to make sure we’re taking care of all the people we can take care of.”
She has such a good heart, and I’m grateful to call her my friend. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Nadia tugs off the ring. “I bet you’re the same ring size as me too.”
I arch a brow. “Are you giving me a ring, Nadia?”
“You’re playing the newlywed game with Daniel. A ring might help the cause,” she says, handing it to me.
My heart thunders at her thoughtfulness. “Really? I can go buy one.”
“Nonsense. Keep it safe. Send it back. It’s perfect for you.”
I slide it on my left hand. “Like a glass slipper.”
She smiles. “Enjoy your fairy tale with the handsome prince.”
I send Daniel a photo of the ring and a note.
* * *
Scarlett: Part of my costume.
* * *
His reply is instant.
* * *
Daniel: Stunning. As fate would have it, I’m on my way to a jewelry store now for a band.
* * *
Scarlett: I bet it will look stunning too.
* * *
Tucking my phone away, I tell myself that this trip will help me take care of people. Buying these boutiques might be a chance to grow our hotels, to build our empire, and to make sure that the people I work with and those who work for me are always provided for.
But maybe, just maybe, I can take care of myself at the same time.
I can indulge in some make-believe.
It needn’t go further than a fantasy. I won’t step into bedrooms or fall into kisses with Daniel.
I’ve got stores of restraint. I’ve been bottling up desire for Daniel since the moment we met. I can handle it, no problem.
But I wouldn’t mind a little fun.
Something festive.
Deliciously playful.
If we’re going to pretend to honeymoon, why not pretend to be other people?
Why not enjoy donning a costume? Especially if the costume is a clingy dress, a stunning wig, and some smoking heels.
That night, when I return to my flat, the concierge tells me he has a package for me.
My shoulders straighten. A frisson of excitement trips through me. I’m not expecting anything. Didn’t order anything.
The man hands me a small gift bag, pink with black stripes.
Oh, my.
This isn’t from Amazon.
This isn’t from the market around the corner.
I hide a smile, thank him, then head upstairs. Inside my home, I unwrap the pink tissue paper, anticipation weaving through my body.
What do I want to find?
Who do I want this to be from?
But I don’t need to ask those questions.
I know.
After I push the paper aside, I dip my hand in and wrap it around a delicate glass globe of perfume.
Come What May.
I open the gold cap, catching a whiff of the sensual scents of honeysuckle and rain. My eyes float closed. It smells like a first kiss and the promise of so much more.
