19. Juliana

NINETEEN

JULIANA

"So, just for the record..."

Mei cranes her neck back and back and back, tracing a pillar in the living room that stretches two-stories high, one of five in between the solid walls of glass. "When you said you were fake dating a rich boy, I didn't know you meant RICH rich. This is the nicest apartment I've ever been in, which is really saying something."

I chuckle awkwardly, picking at the side of my nail. "Uhh, yeah. I'm still getting used to it."

It's the first time we've seen each other since I spilled the deets regarding my odd predicament, explaining how Hayden swindled her into setting me up on a blind date, while having ulterior motives. And while she did take everything quite well—a little too well, if you ask me—it's still a little weird. But maybe fake relationships aren't that uncommon in upper society, which Mei certainly stems from.

Though, apparently not this sort of wealth.

With every step, her knee-high boots click against the ground as she meanders alongside the glass, daring much closer than I would.

In awe, she gazes straight down, a near one-hundred-story drop, then flicks her attention across the huge space, inspecting the room, like she has all the others since arriving—with keen eyes.

"And the artwork is fantastic." She motions toward an accent wall, stopping before a gigantic canvas wrapped in an intricate gold frame.

I tilt my head right along with her, admiring this particular painting for perhaps the fifth time since moving in. Judging by the figures portrayed, the art piece is surely hundreds of years old, although I couldn't possibly name off the era. But I let it transport me there, anyway.

Sitting in a dimly lit grand hallway, women in elegant dresses sit upon fine upholstery, reading books and conversing with distinguished gentlemen, who sport top hats, fitted waistcoats, and linen shirts. Some even hold canes with white-gloved fingers. Lavishness and privilege is their backdrop, accented by oriental rugs, gilded mirrors, elaborate crystal chandeliers, and—

"This is definitely a Victorian piece." Mei pulls me from my fixation, answering my unspoken question. She points. "See this lady's outfit? That's a bustle dress, and the fan she's holding is made of palm leaves. And this gentleman..." she trails off, reciting facts with the fluency of a Jeopardy contestant.

"The artist's manipulation of medium is breathtaking, almost velvety, by their rich use of oil. It's just... wow," she sighs. "It's obviously an original, which must've cost Hayden millions. I could give a pretty accurate guess, but..." She tilts her head to the other side, nearing closer. "There's no signature. That's odd..." Her voice fades into a murmur, her mind swirling like some artistic Sherlock Holmes, riddled with mysteries and hypotheticals.

I tug on her sleeve. "If you think this painting is crazy, just wait for the rest of the tour. Some hallways may as well be inside a museum. A lot of them have an older feel, like this one, but"—I motion back to the living room, diverting her attention, lest we stare at this one the entire night—"I'd say the pieces do an impressive job at blending in with the modern space, but I'm no expert."

She hums in agreement, re-directing her artistic eye onto the contemporary chandeliers and wrap-around couch, the staircase winding up to another floor, and the massive fireplace, which earns a warm smile.

"My room didn't do your vase justice," I say, gesturing toward the mantel.

"No? I think it would look quite lovely beside your stripper pole."

I roll my eyes. "I told you, it's not mine."

"Mhmm, sure. Have you given it a spin yet?" Oh my God, here we go. I only shake my head. "Give Hayden a little show?"

"What? No!"

"Come on. I know you want to." I shove her shoulder, prying a laugh from her. "Okay, fine, maybe you don't. Although, maybe he could give you a show. I saw how hot he was at work—he really does his profile picture justice. But have you seen... more of him?"

I suck in a breath.

"You so have!" she squeals, and before I can even attempt denying, she interrupts, "How? Did you two..."

"No!" Oh, screw it, I can't flat-out lie. So, I'll... sprinkle in a little truth. "Well... We grew up together, remember? And his family had a pool, so... I could probably guess he still looks..."

"Uh, huh, uh, huh." She eggs me on like a small-town gossip, desperate for information.

"He's uhh... not ugly."

She props a hand atop her hip, over her high-waisted miniskirt. "Not. Ugly? Could you elaborate a little?"

"I mean..." Heat crawls up my neck, as I'm unable to meet her gaze. Maybe it's the intensity of her winged liner, or the fullness of her false lashes, but it's like she's staring right into my mind. "He's..." Spit it out, spit it out. I clear my throat, giving her a composed shrug. "He's fine."

Her grin grows large.

"What?"

She snickers. "Juliana, every girl knows that's code for he's hot as fuck."

"N-no," I sputter. "I'm being—"

"Do you have a photo?"

Now my cheeks must really be two ripe tomatoes. Is she psychic or something?

Yes, I don't dare say. Several, actually. Fully shirtless. Some show even more than that. All of which I've totally been meaning to delete. But it just... slipped my mind. Yeah. Funny how that happens. It's not like I've been staring at them for the past five days or anything.

Because that would be weird.

"No, Mei, I don't have any shirtless pho—"

"Actually, wait." She winks, obviously aware I'm keeping secrets. "I want it to be a surprise when I come to the party tomorrow."

My eyes bulge, but then quickly shrink back to their normal size. I shouldn't be surprised. Despite her hectic schedule, Mei never misses a party. "I'd love for you to be there. I'll ask Hayden if it's okay."

"Pfft." She waves a hand through the air, flashing her acrylic nails. "No need. I'll just show up."

I raise an eyebrow. Imagine possessing that level of confidence... "Are you sure? You won't know anyone, and I'm assuming I'll need to stay glued to Hayden's hip most of the night."

"Oh, I'm definitely coming. You summoned me for a makeover—which I've been waiting years for, by the way. I wouldn't miss seeing the results for anything."

I curse beneath my breath. Does everyone have a problem with the way I dress?

Grumbling a long line of protests, I glance down at myself, and for the second time in one morning, I think I look more out of place here than that Victorian painting on the wall. Except, even that finds a way to blend in because of its riches and elegance, while I'm like the sloppy pottery hidden in my room.

Maybe I could go for a little polishing...

"Don't make that face, Juliana. It'll be fun!"

My face scrunches more. "Trying on clothes after clothes after clooooothes, all day. Yeah, sounds like a hoot."

"Don't knock it till you try it."

"You know, I've always hated that phrase."

Her nose wrinkles, mirroring mine. "I kinda do, too. But it's true. I'm sure there's something you're looking forward to."

Mischief bubbles low in my gut, widening my lips into a feline grin. "Oh, there is one thing."

Her eyes narrow. "What's that?"

My hand sinks into my pocket, retrieving something cool and metallic that I dangle in the air. "Hayden gave me his keys."

Remember when I felt insulted by a dessert menu?

Well, the prices in these designer stores are so high, they don't just insult me and my lowly social class. They make me sick. And quite honestly, I think I would be sick, physically, all over these floors and clothing racks, if it wouldn't land me into a debt I couldn't afford for the rest of my life.

"How does it look?" Mei's cheery voice floats above the door of my changing stall. And by stall, I mean full-fledged beauty room, equipped with three full-length mirrors, a velvet chaise lounge, even an adjustable lighting dial.

Zipping up the back of the black mini dress, I approach the largest mirror barefoot, running a hand along the wool material now kissing my skin. Gold-tone buttons dot along the front, crossing thick stripes of white, before tapering off at the polo collar.

Honestly, it fits me like a glove, and I don't have any complaints, yet I still answer, "It looks fine."

"Fine?"

"Yeah, fine. Like—good. It looks good."

"That's what you said about the last five dresses."

She's not wrong. I'm a broken record at this point. I wouldn't say I'm lying, per se. They do look good. More than good, actually. Incredible. Until I check the price tags.

I fumble with the hem, already anticipating the number of digits, but it's no less shocking than the first time I flipped a tag over.

Three-thousand and seven hundred.

Dollars. Not cents.

Thought I'd clarify.

"Did you try on the pumps?"

"Not yet," I sigh, eyeing the bedazzled-pearl shoes lying on the lounge chair. The heels may only stand four inches tall, which is apparently short, according to Mei, but to someone like me, who exclusively lives in Converse or my house slippers, they may as well be the height of skyscrapers.

But I slip them on anyway, then mosey my way out of the stall on wobbly legs. Mei's brows tick skyward, cautious as they were the last time I walked out, as she gives me a look that says, you're doing great, sweetie, but we'll practice later.

Great. I'm a baby deer taking her first steps.

As if my adrenaline wasn't already high enough today. For a multitude of reasons.

First off, we nearly died on the way here. Twenty percent I'll admittedly accredit to my driving. There, I said it. But the other eighty percent lies beneath the hood of Hayden's sports car—if it can even be called that. Spaceship is more like. Or death trap. Yes, definitely death trap, seeing as a single strand of hair draped across the gas pedal sends the machine blazing into the triple digits.

It's short of a miracle we arrived on Fifth Avenue.

Which is a perfect segue for reason number two.

After Hayden left for work this morning, he texted me Go buck wild, then proceeded to list out each and every luxury store I was to buy from, all of which reside on Fifth Avenue and I can hardly pronounce. Again, it's the dessert menu, but taking a different form. Which would've been fine, if I could blend in, just like any other shopper, except Hayden must've called ahead or something, because the moment we stepped through the shiny gates of Gucci, the workers already knew me.

By name.

Well, more so by—

"Miss Brooks!" My personal shopper, Abby, all but drops my next round of clothes, gasping loud enough to turn the heads of others in the waiting room. "You look stunning. Oh my goodness, Carol— Carol," she barks, waving her co-worker over. I catch Mei's eyes rolling to the back of her head. "Doesn't she look dee-vine?!"

"Ohhh, incredible, just incredible," she answers, shaking her head in awe, with dramatic hand motions and everything. You'd think I'm her daughter descending the steps before prom.

When they both disperse, moving on to grab my next round, I release a breath. "Jeez, I'm pretty sure she'd say the exact same thing if I came out in a trash bag."

"Definitely. You're just learning what power a black piece of metal grants a person." Mei smacks on her gum, blowing a large bubble, the act somehow rebellious in such a place. "But she's not wrong." She meets my stare. "You look amazing."

Warmth pools in my center, sweeping me into an unexpected wave of emotions, when I catch my reflection in a mirror across the room. The girl who stares back... I don't even recognize her. And yet... I feel good.

In reality, I may never be the girl who walks confidently into the party, without knowing a single soul there. Not even close. But maybe, just maybe... I could pretend.

"You're serious?" I whisper.

"Very. If this Hayden guy doesn't already want you as his real girlfriend, he sure as hell will tomorrow."