Chapter 53

604words2026-01-19 06:14

I spent the rest of that evening going over lists of names in my apartment back in Brooklyn. My own little agrarian society come to life. The Dior bag sat untouched on the bed beside me, the only thing I'd removed was the purse. The dress itself had been dumped to the bottom of the bag. In a strange act of contrition, I'd refused to even look.

'A girl for Nicholas, a girl for Nicholas..."

I chanted it under my breath as I scrolled through a list of possible names. I'd cast a wide net and there were a lot to choose from. Actresses. Models. Aristocracy. I'd even thrown in one or two ‘every day trust fund daughters' just for balance. It was an impressive list.

More importantly, it was a long list. One that was enough to sufficiently distract me from whatever it was that had happened that day.

As a woman trained to examine a situation from every possible angle, under every possible lens, I was failing at a spectacular level to understand. No matter how many times I played it back in my head. No matter how many times I reviewed his exact words, I couldn't get them to make sense.

The disconnect was in three places.

One: I had no idea in the world why Nicholas had suddenly decided to buy me all those things in the first place. Close as we'd become—that couldn't be farther from our usual dynamic.

Two: I had no idea what had made him suddenly cave to his father's pressure, then get so business-like and cold. If there were two things that Nicholas was not, it was business-like and cold.

Three: I had NO idea at ALL what had made him go with the ‘stranger' option.

Nicholas hated being scrutinized in this way. It was one thing when he was calling the shots himself. When he was the one parading around and making a spectacle. But when he wasn't? When he was an openly acknowledged pawn in someone else's game? He quite simply didn't allow it to happen.

And now her

e he was, agreeing to fake smile, fake kiss, fake date, and fake selfie with some random stranger all to appease dear ‘ole dad? It didn't make any sense.

At least, if he had paired up with one of his more tolerable exes, there would have been a genuine spark. Some history, and old feelings to fall back on. He would have felt like he was part of the game as well—fooling the paparazzi, misleading the press—instead of a puppet on parade.

No, nothing about today made any kind of sense. But for the moment, I didn't have the luxury to dwell. For one of the first times in history, Nicholas had given me an ‘assignment.' I would find a girl for him—and she would be absolutely perfect for the part.

...but maybe not perfect for him.

The idea seized me like a drug. Crushing and empowering at the same time. Knocking down all sense and reason. Sweeping me away before I had the slightest clue that I was even in danger of falling.

I don't know what made me do it. I don't know what made me lean forward with a smile, read the profile in front of me, and pick up the phone to call.

I have NO IDEA what I was thinking, creating a match like this.

It was crazy. It was job-suicide. It was borderline cruel.

All I know, is that I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face. The Dior bag tucked safely beneath my bed.