only having to fake part of it. “It was wonderful,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed an evening so much.” Or a night afterward, she added to herself. Or a day after that. Or a night after that.
“I’ve never been to the opera,” Ava told her. “Never mind a red-carpet event like opening night. It must have been very exciting, rubbing shoulders with such refined company in a gorgeous setting like the Lyric with everyone dressed in their finest attire.”
The announcement surprised Della, though she wasn’t sure why. Certainly there were a lot of people out there, especially her age, which Ava seemed to be, who didn’t care for opera enough to see it performed live. It was the red-carpet comment and the breathless quality of her voice when she talked about the refined company that didn’t gibe. There was an unmistakable air of refinement and wealth about Ava that indicated she must move in the sort of social circle that would promote opera attendance and red-carpet events, never mind gorgeous settings and fine attire.
Both times Della had encountered Ava, the other woman had exuded elegance and good breeding, and had been extremely well put together in the sort of understated attire that only reinforced it. Today, she wore a perfectly tailored taupe suit with pearly buttons, her only jewelry glittering diamond studs in her ears—large enough and sparkly enough for Della to guess they alone cost a fortune. Her dark auburn hair was arranged in a flawless chignon at her nape, and her green eyes reflected both intelligence and sophistication.
Standing across the counter from her, Della was more aware than ever of her impoverished roots. Although she was dressed nicely enough in brown tweed trousers and an ivory cashmere sweater under her dark chocolate trench coat, she felt like more of an impostor than ever. Ava Brenner obviously came from the sort of old money background that Della had had to insinuate herself into—and still never really belonged in. She recognized all the signs, having been surrounded by people like Ava in her job.
Not for the first time, she wondered why the other woman ran a shop like this. She was probably rich enough on her own to do nothing but be idly rich, but she’d been at the boutique late Saturday afternoon when Della picked up her clothes, and she was here bright and early Monday morning, too. For some reason, that made Della glance down at Ava’s left hand—no wedding ring. No engagement ring, for that matter. She wondered if Ava had ever loved and lost and how she felt about it.
Della pushed the thought away. Women like Ava could pick and choose whomever they wanted for a mate. She was beautiful, smart, successful and chic. Once she set her sights on a man, he wouldn’t stand a chance. He would love her forever and make her the center of his universe. No way would she settle for a one-night stand with a guy she’d never see again.
“Well,” Ava said now as she counted out the last of Della’s refund, “I hope you’ll keep Talk of the Town in mind the next time you need to look your best.”
Right. The next time Della would need to look her best would be when she appeared before the grand jury in two weeks. Somehow, though, she was pretty sure one of her suits from her old life would work just fine for that. But maybe in her new life …
She pushed that thought away, too. Her new life would be miles away from Chicago. And there was little chance she’d need to don haute couture for anything in it. It would be nothing but business attire, since she’d be doing little other than establishing herself in a new job, starting all over again from square one. It was going to be a long time before she was earning enough to recapture the sort of life she’d had in New York.
It would be even longer before she trusted any man enough to let him get close to her again.
That hadn’t been the case with Marcus, a little voice inside her head piped up. You got close to him pretty fast. And you trusted him enough to have sex with him.
But Marcus was different, Della assured the little voice. Marcus had been a one-night stand. It was easy to trust someone you knew you were never going to see again.
Seriously? the voice asked. Is that the reason you want to go with?
Um, yeah, Della told the voice.
Fine. But you’re only kidding yourself, you know.
Shut up, voice.
“Be careful out there,” Ava said, bringing Della’s attention back around. “The snow may have stopped, but there are still some slick spots on the sidewalk and slush in the gutters and all kinds of things that could harm you.”
Oh, Ava didn’t need to tell Della that.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”
And she could, Della knew. She’d been doing it her entire life. That wasn’t going to change simply because she had a new life to get under way. Especially since there wouldn’t be any Marcuses in her future. Men like him only came along once in a lifetime—if even that often. No way would a man like that show up twice.
In two weeks, Della would be embarking on a second life. A life in which she’d be alone again. Alone still, really, since Egan had never actually been with her the way he could have—should have—been.
Only once in her life had Della really felt as if she was sharing that life—sharing herself—with someone else. And it was someone she would never—could never—see again.
Nine days after returning the red dress to Talk of the Town, Della was still struggling to go back to her usual routine. It felt like anything but routine now that she had memories of Marcus shouldering their way into her thoughts all the time. The safe house where the feds had placed her was what one would expect to find in middle-class, middle-income, Middle America: sturdy early American furnishings in neutral colors and synthetic fabrics, with white walls and artwork that might have been purchased at any yard sale in suburbia. The lack of personality on the house’s part had only contributed to Della’s feelings of entrapment during her time here, but that feeling was compounded in the wake of her separation from Marcus. The handful of days she had left here stretched before her like an oceanful of centuries.
And she was even more fearful now than she’d been before about the uncertainty of her future. Before, she’d been prepared to face life on her own and had felt reasonably certain she would be able to manage. But now she knew what might have been under other, better circumstances. Wonderful. Life with Marcus would have been wonderful. Because he was wonderful. No other man would ever be able to hold a candle to him.
She sighed fitfully. There he was again, at the front of her thoughts. She told herself the only reason she thought him so wonderful was because she knew so little about him. Anyone could be wonderful for thirty-six hours in a small room with no one watching. The time she’d spent with him had been a fantasy. He’d been a fantasy. They’d both been playing the role of the phantom, perfect lover. Once free of the hotel room, he might be the same kind of man Egan had turned out to be.
How could she be so certain that Marcus hadn’t lied about everything that weekend anyway? He’d said the woman he was waiting for was out of his life, but what if he’d only said that to further his seduction of Della? How could she expect him to have been completely open and honest about himself when she hadn’t been open and honest about herself? Once she learned more about him, once she’d discovered what kind of person he really was …
But
