I couldn’t look at him. I was still trying very hard to speak.
“Harold gave me the name of a place,” he continued on quickly, talking in a rush so as to minimize the damage as much as possible. “They were really discreet—in and out. We only used back doors and side entrances. No one in the press knew I was there.”
Fascinating stuff. At least, I was sure it would be if I could manage to take my eyes off the tiny piece of jewelry sparkling in his hand.
“...that’s a ring.”
His face tensed nervously, like he was afraid he’d broken me somehow.
“That’s right, Abby,” he said with cautious patience, “it’s a ring. Do you want to maybe sit down so that we don’t flash it in front of the entire—”
“For me?”
He paused, at a complete loss as to what to say. A bit of a crowd was beginning to gather in the lower story—drawn by that societal instinct that they had stumbled upon the beginnings of a scandal. Nick took one look at them, and quickly shut the box.
“Okay, I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not—but we’ve got to go.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he grabbed me by the arm, and started tugging me toward the service elevator near the back. I followed along hastily behind him, still completely unaware of what was going on and tripping every few seconds in my towering shoes.
It wasn’t until he’d pressed the button and we were about to leave, that I realized I was still wearing the dress I’d been trying on. That, and everything else I’d brought with me, was still sitting in a pile on the changing room floor.
“Nick, wait!” I tried to tug my wrist out of his hand. “I still have to pay for this. And all my stuff, it’s all still—”
“I’ll have Brigitte send your things back to the apartment.”
My head spun around, searching desperately for this mysterious benefactor. A vague part of me was aware that I was starting to lose it. A vague part was aware that I was speaking much more loudly than was required.
But that part had been silenced the moment I saw the diamond. Buried for good measure, the moment I saw the crowd.
This was not supposed to be my life. This was not supposed to be happening.
“Wait—who?”
Nick glanced behind him. People had begun to pull out their smart phones now. Trying their very best to get the whole thing on video. He flashed them a quick smile, and turned slowly back to me—speaking through his teeth.
“Brigitte. Now come on, Abby—please lower your voice.”
It was a rational request. A damn vital one considering our circumstances. But I was long past rational. And too far gone for vital to mean much.
“No, Nick,” I twisted away, eyes still on the pocket into which he’d slipped the ring, “it’ll be fine, let me go and grab my stuff. I’ll just be two seconds—”
He pulled me suddenly close, silencing me with the abrupt proximity.
“A good publicist once told me that it only takes one second to snap a picture that can follow you for the rest of your life.”
He spoke in a low, rapid clip—staring intently into my eyes.
“Your things will be fine, I’ll have them sent back home. In the meantime, at least three of the women downstairs have already called the press, and at least two of them just saw me pull out that ring.”
It was a speech I had probably given him at least a hundred times before, but I had never been on the receiving end myself. A shudder ran through my body, but he squeezed me tightly on the arms—bringing my focus back to the matter at hand.
“Now, do you want to go back, change out of that dress, and be trapped in here with the fallout? Or do you want to get into this elevator...and let me take you home?”
I stared at him for only a moment, losing myself in those beautiful eyes. Then I glanced at the swelling mob behind me, and pushed the elevator button myself.
“I want to go home.”
Home. It was somehow very easy to call it that now. Even though I’d only been living there for a few days. Even though the circumstances that brought me were as wild as they come.