“Now come, sit next to me,” she says, patting the chair beside her. I join her as I hand the silver flats to another sales assistant and wait for my size. “Why are you trying to ignore this attraction to Daniel? It is because you don’t want to get involved?”
“See point number one. He’s my business partner.”
She tsks me. But it’s sort of a loving tsk. “Is this really about him being your business partner?” She taps my breastbone. “Or is it about that heart of yours that’s still on ice?”
I sigh heavily. “Can you blame me?”
She shakes her head. Then she huffs out an irritated breath. “I only blame your husband. I still want to exhume Jonathan’s body and shake some sense into him.”
I cringe, laughing a little in horror. “You tend to be filter-free, but even I can’t believe you just said that. That’s kind of gross.”
Nadia arches a brow so high it practically rises through the ceiling of the store. “Kind of? I think it’s horrifically gross and quite macabre. But I still can’t believe what you learned after he died. It’s awful. One hundred percent filter-free awful.”
My heart winces, but it’s not the sucker punch that it was three years ago, after my husband was struck down with an aneurysm in Battersea Park when we were out for an evening walk, heading to dinner at our favorite Indian restaurant, the one with the chana masala I loved.
A night that ended with an ambulance, the words dead on arrival, and a gutting of my heart.
It’s not the serrated knife edge that scooped out the organ in my chest when I opened a drawer in our home a month later, deep in mourning, and learned who I’d been married to, who I’d buried.
I shudder. These days it’s not so much abject, awful hurt that rips through my body when I think about Jonathan. It’s coolness. It’s a chill. And that chill is a reminder to avoid falling in love. To avoid connection that can lead to being absolutely blindsided, smacked upside the head, and left behind. I shake my head. “Let’s not talk about Jonathan,” I say.
“But do you need to talk about him?” she asks softly.
I shoot her a sympathetic smile, then squeeze her arm. “I love that you’re always willing to talk. About anything. I love that. But let’s chat about shoes instead,” I say as the shopkeeper trots over and sets down a pair of blue shoes for Nadia and the silver flats for me, then takes off.
“I can always talk about shoes.” Nadia slides on the jewel-colored beauties, then emits an appreciative ooh.
I stare at the heels on her feet, a small burst of envy spreading through my chest. I make grabby hands. “Those are divine,” I say.
“Told you. You should just get a pair for your trip.”
I laugh. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to push me toward them?”
She leans a little closer, dropping her voice to a stage whisper. “Because I am.”
“And why are you so determined to get me to climb Daniel like a tree?”
“Because it’s been a long time for you. Maybe, just maybe, you could indulge a little bit.”
I blink, considering her statement. “You think I ought to indulge in a tryst with Daniel Stewart?” I whisper as if her idea might be the height of scandal. It kind of is.
“The two of you have these red-hot sparks. Every time I see you together at an event, you’re like the poster children for flirting. Why not indulge? He doesn’t seem like the relationship type. You don’t seem like one either. You both would probably be up to keeping everything at arm’s length.”
“Does that even work?”
“If anyone can pull it off, it’s you. You’re brilliant at that. You line things up the way you want. You plan, you strategize, you organize. And you make things happen. That’s what you do. Besides, why couldn’t you do it?”
Is she for real? Is that something that could actually work?
I slide my feet into the silver flats, staring at them, studying them as I ponder her forthrightness.
And shoes.
I ponder shoes.
I do like flats. They’re excellent for a long day. But I covet Nadia’s shoes. Their sexiness. The way they make her legs appear more svelte, more sensual as she stands, rises, walks to the mirror, and considers them.
A jealous groan rumbles up my chest as I gaze at her feet.
She returns to me. “I saw you staring at these shoes. Just try them on,” she says, then offers them to me, like she’s clandestinely handing me a baggie of pills. We’re about the same size, so I take off the silver flats, slip on the pumps, and stand.
Her eyes pop. “Ooh la la. You have to get them.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, but you need the right look for them.”
“And I don’t have that?”
“The right clothes, friend. I’ll forage through your closet for items. But I say go all in with the whole clandestine secret lovers look.”
I laugh. “Is that what you think we should go for? We should be secret lovers?”
“Wait. Nope. That’s wrong. You’re pretending to be honeymooners. So you’re open lovers. In fact, I think you should costume it up.”
Costume.
That word reverberates.
It’s full of ideas, potent with possibilities.
A costume lets you pretend.
To be somebody else.
I wouldn’t mind being another person for this trip.
“Buy those shoes. You know you want to,” she says, egging me on.
“You’re the worst sort of influence,” I say.
“Or the best.”
“But don’t you want a pair too?”
Nadia shakes her head. “No. I tried them on because I knew it would activate your jealousy glands. And it worked.”
“You’re so Machiavellian,” I say.
She winks. “What can I say? It’s my job to move chess pieces around.”
“I’ll be your pawn.” I take the purchases to the register, buy them, and head out onto the Rue des Rosiers with her.
Once we hit the pavement, she hooks her elbow through mine. “I do believe I saw a wig store as we were walking through here. Why don’t we get you some wigs too, and you can go all in on costuming for your role-play?”
As she says that, I’m suddenly imagining the kinds of roles I wouldn’t mind playing with Daniel. I wouldn’t mind it at all. In fact, maybe I should indulge. Not in a tryst, like she’s suggesting. But maybe I should play up the whole look, the whole feel, the entire vibe of a couple checking into a hotel.
What’s the worst that could happen?
It could just be fun.
I’ve been all work and no play for three years. I’ve been so focused on building my business, on building walls around my heart, on protecting myself, that maybe the indulgence I need is simply to have a little bit of a good time.
With shoes in hand, both the silver ones for practicality and the sapphire ones for sensuality, we head to the wig shop, and I purchase a few delicious numbers. Then, looking thoroughly Parisian with shopping bags on my shoulders and satchels in my hands, I walk with Nadia through the cobblestone streets as she calls her driver. Soon, we slide into her limo and head across town to my flat as we catch up on all the goings on in her world.