Chapter 53

Being driven around New York had its benefits. Jack pointed out more sights for me as we were taken toward Manhattan and Central Park.

The streets were busy, but there were also fewer pedestrians than I expected. A lot of taxis flowed, many folks getting in them and then sometimes only traveling a few blocks before they'd get out again.

As cars pulled in and out, it was clear this was what slowed the majority of the traffic as well. It was a sort of chaos I didn't think I was capable of getting used to. It made me grateful I wasn't the one driving.

Along the way, we'd stopped to grab a late lunch-to-go from a small cafe Jack liked and had already polished it off before the driver finally pulled us over right outside a grand building.

I blinked at the large single word over the double door.

Dior.

Jack had taken me to shop at Dior.

Trying not to show my nerves, I let him pull me out of the car and into the store. Immediately, a smartly dressed woman approached us, her eyes taking in Jack and lighting up before they switched to me. I was appraised with a single look, and it was obvious the assistant tried not to show her distaste for the cheaper clothes I was currently wearing.

Although I gave her credit for trying, it didn't make me feel any better about the experience.

After looking me over again, she refocused on Jack.

"Can I help you both today? Men's wear?" she asked, almost sounding hopeful.

"No, nothing for me today. Juno needs some clothes to wear on the island. At least seven outfits and some sandals, hats, and accessories. The whole works."

"Right. Of course. Follow me, then, and we'll see what we can find. You look to be about a size six, ma'am. Is that correct?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not familiar with American sizes," I replied, feeling so far out of my depth I wanted to cry already.

Almost immediately, the woman's expression softened, and she seemed to turn into a warm, comforting aunt or matron.

"Well, there's no need to fret on that count. It's my job to help you find some clothes you love, and I'm sure we can do just that."

Feeling a little better but aware I was so obviously out of my depth that Jack might decide I didn't belong in his world, I let myself be led along to a section of the store.

Immediately, the associate started pulling items of clothing off the displays, and I noticed the shop was very different from the cheap ones I was used to. Instead of twenty different styles of jeans and racks and racks of tops, there was a greater variety and far less on display.

But the store seemed to make up for the lack of overwhelming quantity that was supposed to cater to many tastes by having some stunning outfits and matching sets designed to flatter thin people far more than anything else.

I'd only been in the shop for a few more minutes before I found myself eternally grateful that I was at least relatively slender, although I noticed I was on the upper end of the sizes they stocked.

Trying not to worry about it, I allowed the assistant to keep going a little longer and even looked at a few things myself, picking out a summer dress with a matching hat and sandals I liked the look of. As I did, I tried to look for a tag or some kind of price sticker, but there was just the brand logo on a small card with a barcode on it.

I caught Jack's attention as I held it up again, trying to decide if it was worth spending an unknown amount of money on and guess what it might cost. He came over and took it off me before holding it up against my body and popping the hat on my head.

"I like it. You should definitely get this one," he said.

I saw the assistant look over and immediately smile before hurrying to another section of the store, where she found a matching bathing suit. While she was far enough away, I leaned closer to Jack.

"Where are the prices on these things?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

"They don't put price tags on their clothes," he replied. "They operate under the assumption that if you can afford to buy here, you aren't worried about the differences in costs of one piece of clothing versus another."

"Right," I said, feeling even worse. Why couldn't this be simple to do? And who thought people didn't need price tags? I had absolutely no idea if I could afford just one outfit or twenty new ones.

"You feeling okay?" he asked a moment later.

"Yeah, just…there's a lot that's different in the world of the rich and famous. I guess I'm still getting used to it."

"Okay, but don't worry about the prices, all right? I can get these. You only need them because of me." I saw him studying my face as if he was trying to figure out if that was why I'd reacted the way I had.

"No. It's okay. I'm sure I can pay. It can't be that expensive to buy some material, even if it has been made into something beautiful," I replied, aware the assistant was back and looking between us as if trying to decide whether she should interrupt.

I smiled at her but shook my head at the bikini she'd found in matching print.

"As much as I like the fabric, I think that would be overdoing it," I said.

"Understood," she replied, looking like that answer had been expected and made all the sense in the world before putting it down on a nearby shelf that seemed to be placed exactly to take discarded items.

Feeling a little sorry for her when she was clearly just trying to help me find what I did want, I let her show me the other pieces she'd picked out, and I chose some of them to try on as well.

With about six outfits and all their corresponding accessories, I made my way to the changing rooms. Jack paused outside them, and I noticed he was immediately offered a drink and snacks while he waited. That impressed me.

"Do you want me to show you each outfit as I try it?" I asked. "Or let the ones I buy be a surprise?"

"Whichever you'd prefer. They're going to make sure I'm not bored either way," he replied with a grin.

I couldn't help but smile at the cheeky way he glanced at the assistant, and it seemed to help break some of the awkwardness of the moment.

Still not sure which I'd choose to do, but grateful for Jack's ability to diffuse some tension, I hurried inside, and the assistant immediately showed me into one of the biggest changing rooms I'd ever seen. Rather than the heavy curtains I was used to pulling across gaps, it was a room in and of itself, with another small changing area off that.

It also contained a seat and a rack to hang everything on.

When the assistant handed me the first outfit, I decided to assume she was sticking around and took it into the smaller, curtained area.

"That dress you picked out really is a good color for you," she said as I began to change, clearly trying to make polite conversation. "I'm sure you're going to look amazing in it."

I hoped she was right, but I wasn't sure how to respond to it and merely concentrated on pulling off the less well-designed clothes I already wore.

Immediately, I felt exposed and vulnerable, and I noticed the last few marks of the bruises I had left. The dress would expose more than one of them, its back crisscrossed and more open than I'd originally imagined.

Trying not to let it stop me, I put the dress on anyway.