“I can’t take your money,” I said. “As generous as the offer is, I’d never be able to pay it back and I couldn’t live with that.”
“Then we’re back to you trusting Gen.”
“Do I have to tell her everything? Can I leave out The White Company? Can I just tell her about the Foscari?”
“I think that might be okay.” She stared at me as she bit her lip. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” I hastened to assure her. “We have a plan of attack now, right? I’ll talk to Gen and state my case. I’ll do whatever job I have to do to get a new identity and disappear.”
“I didn’t mean about your meeting with Gen. I meant I’m worried about you. Emotionally.”
“Ah.”
“You should fall apart. Cry, scream, throw shit. You’ve been holding it together since you got here.”
“I have to hold it together because I’m afraid that if I fall apart, I’ll never be able to piece myself back together.”
“Have you really grieved for your mom?”
“Yes,” I said, ducking my head so she wouldn’t see my eyes.
“I know you. You haven’t really grieved. You haven’t had the time this last year. Not if you’ve been worried about the Foscari coming for you. You’ve been in survival mode. You’ve mashed it all down.”
“I’ve grieved,” I insisted. “Alone and in private.”
She peered at me. “Alone to process everything you’ve learned about who you are and your mother’s history?” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that if you don’t deal with this, deal with your past, your mother’s death, the truth of it all, you’ll think you’ve got it handled and it will all come at you when you least expect it.”
“There’s nothing more to deal with,” I insisted. “I haven’t cried for her in over a year. It’s done. I don’t want to look back. I want to look forward.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of like…”
“Like what?”
“A feral pet.”
“What?”
“You’ve always been prickly and hard to comfort. You don’t let anyone into your world. I get it. I understand why, but it seems even more so now than ever before.” She paused. “I talk about things. I let it all hang out there. I don’t care. But you guard your feelings like you’re afraid someone is going to use them against you. You’ve been that way since the day we met.”
“And you wanted to be my friend, why?”
“Because you didn’t judge me for the cheap gold studs in my ears, and your offer of friendship was unreserved.”
“Are you saying I have some winning qualities despite my rough edges?”
“Something like that.” She grinned. “I called Gen while you were in the shower.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “She’ll see you on Monday, which means I have a day to get you ready.”
I looked at her warily. “Get me ready?”
“Yeah. You didn’t think I would send you into the lion’s den without any weapons, did you?”
“Lion’s den?”
“You’re beautiful, Sterling. You’re smart, you speak two languages fluently—”
“Three,” I corrected.
She frowned. “Italian, English, and what else?”
“French.”
“Okay, that’s new.”
“There wasn’t a lot to do this past year while I was trying to remain under the radar.”
“So, you used your time to learn another language. Sure, yeah. Because everyone does that.”
“I’m not like everyone else. I wish I was,” I said, staring over her shoulder to the window. Bright sunshine poured through the glass. “I just wanted normal. That’s all I ever wanted to be. Instead, I have this—legacy—I have to contend with.”
“Normal is overrated.”
“It would’ve been nice to have had a choice, you know? Instead, my mother’s history is dictating my present and my future.” I shook my head. “Okay, enough with the feeling sorry for myself. That won’t help. Can we go back to what you said about having to get me ready?”
“You’ve got the goods, but the packaging doesn’t do anything for you.”
“I don’t know what any of that means.”
“No offense, but your wardrobe leaves a lot to be desired. And your nails…” She shook her head. “Your hair is pure luxury, but you’ve neglected the hell out of it. You’ve got to wow her.”
“Wow her,” I repeated dumbly.
“The Rex is a glamorous hotel. You can’t walk in there looking anything less than your best. Doesn’t matter if you’re a server in the Bar and Restaurant, a concierge, or a maid. You have to look your best because The Rex expects the best.”
I sighed. “I know beggars can’t be choosers, but I’d love nothing more than a job that lets me blend in, sit behind a desk, and stare at a computer all day long.”
She looked at her watch, a dainty little piece. “Can you be ready to go in an hour?”
“Go? Go where?”
“I have a dress fitting at Folson’s.”
“Folson’s?” I asked in surprise. “A dress fitting?”
“There’s a corporate event I have to go to,” she said breezily.
“I don’t have nice enough clothes to get me through the front door of Folson’s,” I said to her, looking down at my worn-in-the-seat jeans and threadbare shirt.
She waved away my objections. “I’ve got a dress that will fit you.”
“I’m three inches shorter than you, Tiff,” I said dryly.
“It hits me mid-thigh. The length on you won’t be an issue.”
“But my shoes—”
“Will you stop?” she asked in exasperation. “I’ve got it covered, all right?”
“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me everything?”
“Because I’m not.”
Chapter Three
An hour later, I was wearing a black floral print dress with a belt that cinched my waist and a pair of black ballet flats that Tiffany had sent out for. I knew she was doing well at The Rex—a downtown luxury condo was nothing to sneeze at—but the fact that she could send out for breakfast and shoes gave me pause.
“You look great,” Tiffany said, as she looked in the hallway mirror and tied a pink headscarf into a makeshift headband.
“Me? You’re the one that looks amazing.” She was dressed in an A-line blush dress with a sweetheart neckline and three-inch matching high heels. She looked completely out of time and place in the 1950s getup, and she rocked it easily.
“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing her matching clutch and opening it to ensure she had her favorite lip gloss.
We rode the elevator down to the underground parking garage, and I followed Tiffany to a corner space with a shiny, candy-apple red Audi TT RS backed into its spot.