Читать книгу Romance for Cynics - Nicola Marsh - Страница 12

FIVE

The next morning, Lucy met with the last person on the planet she’d want to spend time with.

A stylist.

She liked the way she looked. She liked wearing comfortable, versatile clothes. She liked maintaining a no-fuss haircut, even if she did look as if she’d just got out of bed and headed to work most days.

But she liked the thought of saving Gram’s house more, and desperate times called for affirmative action: like updating her wardrobe, her hairstyle and her look.

Not that she was doing this to impress Cash. She’d taken pride in her appearance once, had loved the expensive fashions she’d worn during her marriage, had adored her artistic hairdresser, had spent an inordinate amount on make-up.

But no matter how prettied up she’d been, Adrian had cheated on her anyway and she’d shut away her inner fashion guru a long time ago.

However, being filmed as part of Cash’s fundraiser changed the playing field. And after his impassioned speech last night about not judging on appearances, she felt guilty.

Just because she didn’t go in for frippery any more didn’t mean he could neglect his public image, and she’d be doing him a disservice by rocking up to his fancy functions in ripped denim and pilled cotton.

He’d been nothing but lovely last night and her subtle antagonism seemed to make him laugh all the harder.

She had no intention of falling for his charm, which he was obviously used to laying on thick with the girls, but somewhere between the potato bondas and the Madras chicken curry she’d grown to respect him a tad.

And she was starting to regret having done the one thing he said he didn’t do: judge on appearances.

Because she had. Judged him. By the house he lived in, by the clothes he wore, by the company he kept.

Despite her preconceptions, the Cash she’d enjoyed a delicious Indian meal with in that tatty diner? Unpretentious, easy-going and able to laugh at himself.

She’d made a snap decision on leaving the restaurant: if she had to spend a week in his company, the least she could do was lighten up.

Not every guy was the enemy and, sadly, the years of self-imposed singledom had turned her into a cynic.

So that was why she was here, in one of Melbourne’s iconic department stores, consulting with an elegant woman who had nothing on her mind but making Lucy spend as much money as humanly possible.

‘You have a good eye for fashion.’ The fifty-something woman with a blonde coif, wearing a tight black shift and towering stiletto pumps, stood back and appraised her with blatant shock. ‘Every piece you’ve chosen looks like it has been made for you.’

‘I like clothes,’ Lucy said, her simple statement earning a beaming smile from FashionZilla.

‘I’ll be right back with the perfect sandals to go with that sheath.’ The consultant bustled away, leaving Lucy standing in a small room that looked like something out of Arabian Nights.

She spun around, feeling like Carrie in Sex and the City, glamorous and chic, the simple strapless red sheath reflected back to her tenfold in the surrounding floor-length mirrors.

Her hands skimmed the shot silk, savouring the slide of expensive fabric. Out of all the outfits she’d tried on, this had made her heart flutter the most.

She remembered this heady feeling: of choosing the perfect outfit, confident she looked good in it. All the clothes she’d worn back then had been about her: making her feel good. Sure, she’d appreciated Adrian’s compliments, but after a frugal upbringing it had been like a kid let loose in a candy shop and she’d revelled in it.

Which was the exact reason why she’d left it all behind.

She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of her foolishness. Had she been so wrapped up in the frivolity of her indulgent lifestyle that she’d been oblivious to her husband’s indiscretions? Or worse, had she used her privileged life as a deliberate distraction from the warning signs?

She hadn’t thought so at the time, or during the many months after she’d dissected the disastrous fallout, but on the odd occasion when she allowed her mind to drift she wondered if she’d been blinded to the truth by the glitz she’d grown to love.

The consultant hurried back into the room and thrust a pair of sparkly stilettos at her. ‘Here, try these.’

Lucy had a distinct Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz moment as she slipped on the sparkly crimson heels. If only she could click her heels and vanish back to the staid normality of her life before she’d discovered the truth about Pops, the threat to Gram’s house and the craziness of agreeing to pose as Cash’s girlfriend.

‘What do you think?’ The consultant fussed around her, smoothing non-existent creases and adjusting the zip. ‘You’ll make quite the impression in this outfit whatever the occasion.’

The occasion would be the Valentine’s Day ball and a most welcome conclusion to her week-long zaniness posing as Cash’s girlfriend.

Once her obligations were done, she could throw herself wholeheartedly into his landscaping job.

But as she stared at her startling image in the mirror, she had a thought. How would she interact with Cash after this week was done? Would they revert to their previous cool relationship or would the week of forced proximity and faked romance change things?

Ideally, she’d go back to ignoring his overtures and he’d go back to making millions. In reality, Lucy knew a week of spending time together, sparring and joking, would blur the boundaries.

‘Shall I start packaging your choices?’ The stylist picked up her clipboard and started ticking items off her list. ‘Just to clarify: you’re taking the jade waffle-knit jacket, the aubergine skirt suit, the black pencil skirt, the tribal print dress, the quilted puffer jacket, the floral flip skirt, and the formal sheath you’re wearing.’

This was the time for Lucy’s sanity to return. She should bolt from the store while she had the chance. Instead, she found herself reluctantly nodding. ‘Yes, thanks.’

The woman’s eyes glittered at what would be healthy commission. ‘And the shoes to complement the outfits? Black patent leather kitten heels, the knee-high boots and the crimson evening stilettos?’

‘Those too,’ Lucy said, her resigned sigh earning an odd look from the stylist.

‘You get changed while I start putting these purchases through.’ The stylist wiggled a card out from a stash on a nearby table. ‘And if you’re interested, our in-store hairstylist is offering seventy-five per cent off all services to customers who spend over five hundred dollars here.’

Considering Lucy had just spent double that on replenishing her wardrobe, she definitely qualified. Lucy thanked her, took the card and slipped back into the dressing room to change back into her jeans and ‘I HEART DIRT’ T-shirt.

She’d come this far in her lunacy. Why not go the whole hog and get her hair done too?

Feeling chirpier than she had in ages, she hummed the latest pop song under her breath as she changed, surprisingly eager to see Cash’s expression when she met him at the PR firm’s head office to launch the fundraiser later today.