Page 39 of Desperate Lies
“What?”
“The business. What does it mean?” I tap my fingers against my heart. “In here.”
She frowns, but then her body relaxes. “I want to be financially free, but if the end goal was money and money alone, I would have chosen something else. Something more straightforward; less risky. A secretarial role or a graduate trainee position somewhere. I could have applied to law school. But I didn’t want to do any of those things. I want to do this because I love it.” Her eyes light up, passion infusing her voice. “I love books. Fashion too. I love the performance aspect of social media. Because itisa performance. It’s a curated view of reality. I love the artifice of it. Theartof it.”
Her energy is infectious; I want more. “What else?”
She leans her elbow on the island and stares at me, hard, as if she’s the one who’s asked a question, and she’s trying to determine the answer in my body language.
I feel examined to a degree I wasn’t expecting, yet I don’t mind it at all. Her attention is a warm bath I want to soak in.
“I don’t ever want to have to depend on someone else again,” she says. “I don’t want to hand over control to someone else. I want to be free to make my own choices and gain that freedom by doing the thing thatIchoose to do. The thing I love doing. I choosethiscareer.Thisbusiness.” She stabs her index fingeragainst the island, as ifitis the business. “Because choosing for myselfisfreedom. And I’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”
She meets my gaze and seems to shrink ever so slightly, the confidence she demonstrated moments before seeping away as she chews on her bottom lip and waits for my verdict.
“Don’t look so anxious,” I say. “There are no wrong answers, but that was a good one. You’ll be fine.” I offer her a reassuring smile. “You’ve got passion. Everyone has to start somewhere.”
She holds eye contact, and that hot unfurling sensation begins so I look away.
“What’s important to you?” she asks.
I’m not expecting the question, so it takes me a moment to answer, but when I do, it comes easily and honestly. “My daughter. My family and friends. My business. In that order.”
Diana nods slowly, taking it in as if it has great weight. “That’s a good list,” she says quietly.
I want to linger in her company, but there’s no excuse for it, so I merely say, “Good night, Diana,” and leave her in the kitchen, alone.
15
DIANA
Igasp as I stand before my newly filled wardrobe. I’ve been here a week, slopping about in my t-shirts and tracksuits, and now, as if by magic, every cupboard in my room has been stocked. Where there were empty hangers before, now there are all kinds of designer clothes. Rows of silk, cashmere, chiffon and cotton. Dresses, tops, trousers, blouses.
Everything.
“What on earth is this?” I say to Lizzie, who’s standing beside me, staring at the clothes with wide eyes, looking just as surprised as me.
“You told my dad you had no clothes. He asked me what happened to your things, so I told him. I hope you don’t mind. I had no idea he was going to do this, though.”
Heat rushes to my face. Every dress from Erica Lefroy’s spring collection—the ones that look like fairytales—is hanging in my cupboard. Beside them are the satin and leather collection, and shelves of Erica Lefroy shoes in every colour line another wall. My knees go weak, and I cup my hands over my mouth, letting out the tiniest whimper.
“Oh, God. I wasn’t asking for this. I didn’t mean to…” My hands hit my cheeks. “This is so embarrassing.”
Lizzie lets out a bemused-sounding giggle. “Please don’t worry. Honestly, this is nothing. I promise. I don’t mean to be a dick about it, but he probably made everything he spent back on interest in about ten seconds.”
Something inside me drops like a stone. For a second, I thought hecared.
“Oh…oh. That’s…”
Another little laugh spills from her mouth, and she pulls me into a hug. “I know it seems like a lot, but don’t feel guilty, because this isnothingto him. Nothing. I’m not supposed to talk about money, but really, this means shit to him.”
I let out a sound against her shoulder that’s half guffaw, half sob. “Oh, well, if it meansshit,then that’s okay. He can spoil me all he wants.”
She pulls back, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Don’t tell him I said any of that. He’d be so mad.”
My stomach roils with nerves. “What am I supposed to say?”
Lizzie shrugs. “Just say thank you. He’ll probably make you chalk it up in your finances as a business loan. He’s very emotionally detached about this kind of stuff.”
