How could I not sleep deep and satisfyingly when Fernando treated me so well last night, and then held me in his arms like that?
I stir and roll over, realizing that I can’t feel his warmth on my back anymore, and find myself alone in the bed. “Fernando?” I call out, sleep making my voice thick.
For a long and terrible moment, I think he might have left already, changed his mind, and abandoned me here without so much as a word.
“Yes?” Then he pops his head out of the bathroom, his fingers busy doing up the buttons of a fresh white shirt, and I know my fears were unfounded.
“Morning,” I say sleepily, sitting up. How is he so collected and fresh already?
“Morning,” he replies. “I popped out just now – my assistant brought me a change of clothes. You don’t have to rush in waking up.”
That, at least, explains that. I run a hand over the top of my head and then realize that I must look a fright – no makeup, my hair all ruffled from sleep, and also not dressed yet. I haven’t even checked my skin in the mirror, and I must have morning breath.
Definitely, time to rush to wake up.
I get dressed quickly in a simple sundress over a pair of shorts for both modesty and stability – given that I don’t know what we will be doing today – and then join Fernando again, finding him sitting at the desk with his phone when I come out of the bathroom.
“Is everything alright?” I ask. “You don’t have something that needs your attention at work, do you?”
“No,” Fernando says, slipping the phone into his pocket with a grin. “Just checking everything for today. Are you ready?”
“I guess so,” I say, still a little unsure of whether or not I can possibly be ready given that I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing.
He leads the way out of the room and then out of the hotel, and then offers me his arm. We begin to stroll down the street, both of us in sunglasses against the bright summer sun, and I can’t help a surge of excitement that flows through me. This feels like the real thing like I’m walking around with my boyfriend, out for a day of fun.
If he wants to make today special, then he’s already off to a great start. Even the thought that we aren’t really together, and probably never will be in a serious way, isn’t enough to make me feel bad. I’m experiencing the joy of the moment, and right now, the future doesn’t matter.
We walk down through busy streets to an area where there are a lot of expensive stores with designer names above the doors, names that I recognize easily, though I’ve never been in a position to own anything by any of them.
“Well,” Fernando says, pausing at the beginning of the street and looking down it. “Where do you want to go first?”
I look up at him in surprise. “To shop?” I ask, then burst out a quick laugh. “I can’t afford anything here.”
“I know you can’t,” Fernando says, looking ahead still. “But I can.” When I don’t respond after a minute he looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. “Come on. It’s my treat.”
“Everything is your treat,” I mutter, a half-hearted complaint.
“Yes,” he says. “Now you’re getting it. So, what do you think? Clothes? Jewelry?”
“Um,” I say, not really sure what to answer to that. “I don’t think I would fit any of the clothes here.”
Fernando snorts. “Of course, you will. They make clothes for real people too, not just these anorexic models.”
“I don’t know,” I say cautiously because I really don’t know. From what I’ve seen on TV and in magazines, only stick insects get to wear really nice clothes.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me in the direction of one of the stores. “I know a stylist – she’s helped me out in the menswear section. She will find you something that fits you, no matter what. She’s employed by the store, so you just wait and she’ll bring you everything you need to try on.”
I follow him somewhat reluctantly because I’m not holding my breath. I feel as though I’m about to be humiliated when the stylist takes one look at me and laughs, and tells me that there’s nothing there for a fat girl like me. I can just picture it now. Like the scene in Pretty Woman, except I don’t get to come back with bundles of cash later and laugh.
When we enter the store, Fernando greets the assistants in Spanish and asks for the stylist by name, which doesn’t help my nerves. She’s the picture of professional politeness as he speaks to her and gestures at me, nodding occasionally, and I think, here it is she’s going to shake her head once he finishes and tell him that it just can’t be done.