"Mrs. Ferrari!"
My eyes snapped back to Tatiana. "I asked a question," she beamed, her face alive with mischief.
"Oh, sorry. My mind was... elsewhere. What was it again?" I stuttered, trying to regain composure.
"I made a joke about rich people. Anyway, it doesn't matter." She waved it off dismissively, her focus already returning to the magazine in her lap.
It was Tuesday, and we were in the limo heading for dress shopping. I’d been completely out of it all morning. I hadn’t even been to the office.
The ride had passed in a blur, my thoughts distant and fragmented. The hangover gnawed at me, a sharp reminder of last night’s reckless indulgence. But the physical ache wasn’t the worst part. Bella's confession and the entire fiasco from last night played on repeat in my mind, each detail sharp and relentless.
Normally, I could compartmentalize my personal life and work, keeping one from infecting the other. Not today.
"We're here!" Tatiana declared, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts.
I glanced out the window at the towering boutique. "Yes," I murmured as the door was pulled open. Stepping out, I adjusted my beige skirt and matching top, sliding on my black shades. My bag hung loosely in my grip as we were escorted inside.
Tatiana dove into the racks with an energy that left me envious. Her descriptions were as extravagant as her personality, and I lingered on the sidelines, watching her carefree spirit.
She reminded me of a younger me—the version of myself that hadn’t been burdened by responsibility, regrets, or the weight of expectations. Yet, Tatiana was older than me. How did she maintain that radiance? That lightness?
I sipped my third margarita, absentmindedly twirling the straw.
She emerged from the fitting room in her fifth dress, a voluminous ball gown with a tight bodice. “What do you think?” she asked, spinning in front of the mirror.
“I mean… do you like it?” I asked, deflecting.
She shrugged, her lips curving into a wistful smile. “I could work with it. I wish Daddy was here. His opinion would’ve helped.”
“Won’t Mr. Donaldson be joining us?” I inquired.
“Sadly, no. Daddy’s always so busy. I wanna try another!” she declared, disappearing back into the dressing room.
Another margarita found its way into my hand. Tatiana was spoiled. It was her father’s love and indulgence that shielded her from the harsher realities of life. He’d admitted as much to me during one of our conversations. She was all he had, and he wanted to keep her happy.
When she returned this time, she wore a body-fitted white dress with transparent lace. The glass in my hand froze mid-air.
“You like it?” she asked, grinning.
“I love it.”
“I know! It’s perfect!” She twirled, the fabric catching the light. “This might be the one.”
She reached for her phone, already eager to call her father. “What about Mr. Jared? Won’t he want to see it?” I asked, referring to her husband.
“Why would he?” she replied absentmindedly, typing away.
I sighed. Why did I even bother?
_________________________________________
In the ride back to the office, I went through my notepad. The date for the wedding had been chosen, it was gonna be on the 14th of October, it was in 2 weeks.
YOU ARE READING
The Contract
RomanceIn a world bound by a single, dangerous agreement, 'marriage' is just a mask, and Pearl and Travis are caught in a game where trust is as fleeting as loyalty.
