Page 28 of Bargaining

Actually, no. This was the ideal time to debut my charming new fiancée. “Make it two.”

Chapter 12

Charlotte

Harrods. I’d seen it on the TV. How surreal to be walking inside a building so iconic. Enticing smells drifted from the fragrance counter. We passed by busy high-end boutiques and displays of sparkly handbags and shoe heaven full of brands that I’d only ever dreamed of owning: Gucci, Prada, Valentino.

Cole glided over the marble floor with so much authority, I almost had to jog to keep up with his long strides. He looked like a million dollars in his elegant suit and polished brogues. I glimpsed my fuzzy yellow jumper, denim skirt, and rainbow tights in a shop window. I could hardly argue when he’d said we needed to go shopping. Most of my clothes were from vintage and charity shops, and I didn’t want to stick out at his fancy events.

We passed through a home goods store and my heart pounded. Everything looked crazy expensive and fragile. It would be so easy to swing my handbag and accidentally smash a priceless vase. I stopped to look at a tiny bejeweled ornamental dog.

Cole watched me. “You want it?”

“It’s an ornamental sausage dog that costs two thousand pounds. What would I do with it?”

“Put it on the mantelpiece and look at it?”

“I’d rather put two grand on my mantelpiece and look at that.” I moved to admire a cabinet of glossy plates and bowls.

“You like this stuff?”

“I loved throwing pots at art school.”It was about the only thing I had loved there.

He raised a dark brow. “Why exactly were you throwing the pots?”

“It’s what they call it when you shape clay on a wheel. Throwing.”

“But you stopped? You couldn’tthrow potsat home?”

“I didn’t have time or space. You need a wheel, a kiln, and a glazing area. It’s not a cheap hobby.”

He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, but said nothing further. I dragged myself away from the delicate porcelain. Cole wasn’t hurrying me, but he had to have better things to do than this. We carried on up the grand central escalator until racks of glittering dresses caught my eye.

“I can handle this alone, you know. I don’t want to drag you around dress shopping like one of those beleaguered boyfriends you see sitting outside the women’s changing rooms on a Saturday morning.”

“I don’t feel beleaguered. I had my PA clear my diary.”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. He was probably here because he wanted to make sure I chose the right thing for his image. Cole knew far more than me about fashion. He always looked impeccable. I followed him toward racks brimming with stunning sparkly frocks. A beautiful long midnight-blue Vivienne Westwood gown hung at the front of one rack. I couldn’t resist feeling the luxurious fabric between my fingers.

“Try it on,” he said.

“It’s seven thousand pounds.”

His crisp voice took on a commanding edge. “I didn’t ask the price.”

This was a dress for a long, elegant, willowy woman. Not me. A song drifted to my ears above the low, ambient chatter and bustle. “Cheek to Cheek” by Fred Astaire. A number from one of Dad’s favorite old musicals. The song hurtled me back to the house. It was just the two of us in the living room.The scent of shaving cream. The rasp of whiskers against my face when I kissed him on the cheek.Sometimes, music had been the only way to reach him. When he’d been confused and upset, I’d put this song on to soothe him.

A lump wedged in my throat. The lights overhead dazzled. Everything in this place was too sparkly and bright and showy. This wasn’t me. I didn’t own any designer dresses. It was weird to even contemplate trying on a seven-thousand-pound dress.

“This was a mistake,” I said.

“What?”

All of it. I shouldn’t be here.“Sorry, it’s this song.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It was one of Dad’s favorites.”