I flinch, but Tolyan’s expression—flat to begin with—doesn’t change.
I should say something. I don’t want him thinking I told Elizabeth we’re dating or something. “I’m not—”
“Oh, hush. Don’t forget what I said in the car.” She loops her arm around mine and leads me back out onto the street.
Oh my God, no! Now he’s really going to think I said something I shouldn’t have!
But Elizabeth is like a tornado, dragging me along without giving me a chance to say anything. We pass a couple of restaurants and boutiques, coming to one with a French name in small cursive lettering. A bell tinkles as we go in, as though wind is blowing through small chimes.
Tolyan follows half a step behind. I feel his presence like a burning furnace at my back. I wish I could talk to him about correcting Elizabeth’s misperception, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to talk. Or maybe he doesn’t think it matters what Elizabeth assumes. Either way, I don’t like it.
The interior is indirectly lit with dark brown walls and flooring. There are scallop chairs sitting next to the walls and freestanding racks of brightly colored clothes here and there. One wall is composed of recessed squares, and inside each square rests a single shoe, each with its own tiny spotlight. There are black-and-white photographs on the other walls, head or body shots of fashion icons of the past. Soft classical music is playing, and the air smells expensive and elegant.
Tolyan sweeps the area with his eyes. Two leggy, fashionably dressed women standing by the register desk fidget a bit when his gaze lands on them. I don’t blame them. He is gorgeous, and radiates a kind of danger that makes your heart beat faster and calls to you.
He looks past them, like he doesn’t notice their reaction. But I know him well enough now to understand he misses nothing.
For some weird reason, his cool dismissal puts a spring in my step.
A tall blonde woman walks out. A gorgeous red dress wraps around her slim body, cinched with a thin silver belt. Something about the way she holds herself and moves says, “Europe.”
“Elizabeth, so good to see you,” she says in a dulcet voice. Sure enough, there’s an accent. “I was thrilled when I got your call.”
“Oh, it’s my pleasure. You know how much I love to shop.”
“I do.” They exchange quick air kisses, then the blonde woman pulls back. “I have a bottle of the best vodka for you. A client from Russia brought it, but you know I don’t do vodka.”
“Then of course I’ll have some. But no more than a glass. I’m driving.”
“You can take the bottle with you.” She turns my way, her dark eyes doing a quick, sweeping assessment as I stand awkwardly. Surprise flashes as she sizes me up like merchandise. But almost immediately, a friendly, professional mask settles over her face. “Hello. My name is Monique,” she says, giving me a charming smile.
“Hi. Angelika.” I’m the worst dresser in the group by far, and I don’t want to do anything to embarrass Tolyan or Elizabeth. “Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine. So, shall we get started? It looks as though we have a lot of territory to cover.”
“We sure do,” Elizabeth says.
Monique turns to one of the assistants. “Make Tolyan comfortable. This is going to take a while.”
Chapter Fifteen
Angelika
Monique and Elizabeth whisk me down a hall into a huge, airy room with mirrors everywhere. There are two love seats. Tolyan takes the one in the corner and starts tapping on his tablet. Elizabeth takes the one in the center and sits down, her legs crossed. I debate between the two, then decide I should probably join her, since Tolyan’s busy with his gadget.
Before I can take a step toward Elizabeth, Monique pulls me toward her gently and looks me over, much more thoroughly this time. I look up at the ceiling, hating that I’m being inspected. I wish I were in something nicer, except I don’t have anything nicer. At least I’m not naked or anything, although Monique’s gaze has the power to make me feel more naked than a mannequin.
She then turns to her assistants and tells them my sizes, including my bra.
I put up a hand. “Wait! That’s not right.”
The assistants stop.
Monique gives me a wide-eyed look, like I just told her we’re in the middle of Texas. “What do you mean, not right?”
“You can’t just eye my breasts for a bra sizing,” I point out. “Mine’s different from what you said.”
Monique gives me a pitying look. “Somebody did you an injustice, honey. They measured you wrong. I bet what you’re wearing isn’t all that comfortable.”
“Well…yeah… But…” I thought it was because I bought cheap bras, not because the sizing’s wrong.
“If you have correctly fitted bras that are well constructed, they’ll be very comfortable.”
Elizabeth nods vigorously. I glance over, but Tolyan’s attention is solely on whatever’s on his tablet.
“We simply do not have uncomfortable bras,” Monique says with a confident smile. “As a matter of fact, we do not have anything uncomfortable as long as we stick with one the right size and fit. Trust me, Angelika. I’m the fashion fairy godmother everyone wishes they had. When I’m through with you, you’re going to be gorgeous and comfortable. And men”—she casts a knowing glance in Tolyan’s direction—“will fall over themselves for a chance to chat with you.”
I flush at the picture she’s drawing. It sounds like a dream to have something that looks so pretty and comfy. Of course, Tolyan doesn’t seem to care if what I’m going to end up buying is pretty or comfy, since he’s focused on his tablet.
Still, I like what Monique’s saying. I inhale deeply, ready to put myself at her mercy.
“Let’s bring out the refreshments,” she says. “This is supposed to be fun and relaxing.”
“Exactly,” Elizabeth agrees, then looks at me. “Is a mimosa good, or would you like something else?”
“A mimosa would be fine. Thank you,” I say. I’m not that picky about drinks. I don’t drink much to begin with—alcohol is one of those things I don’t want to spend money on.
Monique turns to her assistants. “You heard them. Let’s have something tasty. And bring out everything in the size I specified.”
While her assistants push out four racks, heavy with clothes, two silver trays appear. A glass of vodka for Tolyan—I know better than to think it’s just water—and another for Elizabeth, plus a mimosa. Tolyan’s tray has berry and peach tarts and a chocolate and strawberry parfait. Ours has bowls of fresh fruit with some kind of white goo poured on top.
I point. “What’s that?” I whisper at Elizabeth, hoping it’s white chocolate, since Tolyan’s getting his parfait.
“Yogurt sweetened with honey. You aren’t allergic, are you?”
I shake my head, then glance over at Tolyan’s options. His are far superior to ours. Probably because the entrance ladies really like him.
Monique starts out with tops and pants and skirts. She takes me to the dressing room and asks me to change into them. “Come out after each outfit. And make sure to put on the right shoes.” She lays out twenty sets, already coordinated.