Page 105 of Morally Black Betrothal

“Good. I’ll make a note that your dermatology appointment is for a skincare consult only.” She went back to her iPad. “As for today, since Kate won’t be back until next week, you’ll still need to get a few things yourself, especially for dinner tonight with Brendan’s family. Shouldn’t be a late affair, given that his father just got home from the hospital a few days ago. But Brendan will want to impress him.”

“And show me off in something that isn’t hospital scrubs. Got it.”

“Indeed. Would you like to meet with a personal shopper? There’s a good one who works out of Neiman Marcus, which works in a pinch?—”

“Ruth?” I cut her off as politely as I could.

She looked up again from her iPad. “Yes?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate all these appointments—I do. Especially since you obviously know more about what’s expected of me here than I do. But do you think I could at least shop for myself? Brendan gave me a card and some money. I’m pretty sure I can choose something appropriate for a family dinner. Just tell me some of the places associated with Blackguard soI’m wearing company threads, and how long I have to find something, and I’ll be good to go, okay?”

I was a little nervous about how she’d respond, especially since this was the second time I’d blown off her carefully drawn-up plans for me.

But something sparked in her eyes. Something like approval.

“Of course,” she said before checking the tablet again. “Today, as it happens, is wide open. Just be at the Black family home in time for dinner.”

After I’d bravedthe Titanic-sized shower in my ensuite and curled my hair just enough to hope it would hold through the evening, I found myself on Newbury Street garbed in my favorite jeans and blue sweater, armed with a list of stores that Ruth deemed Blackguard-friendly.

Newbury was the kind of area dotted with the occasionally affordable shop, but that mostly catered to the moneyed denizens of Boston. I only went there when I wanted to go to my favorite bookstore or Newbury Comics. I definitely never expected to be hanging out in the section lined with names like Armani and Chanel.

Even so, as I entered Ducos, I was determined to make the most of the black American Express and the unlimited budget, even if I wasn’t much of a shopper. I’d always wanted a nice purse. Maybe I could get one of those pretty red ones in the window. Sure, I’d probably sell it in four months and donate the proceeds to the Mass Gen’s cancer research team, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it now, right?

I could think of it as shopping with a cause.

The first step, though, was to figure out how to shop in a place like this. Only one of each item hung like museum pieces from barren racks on each side of the store. The lack of price tags indicated that if you had to ask for them, you couldn’t afford the piece you liked.

Perhaps I should’ve gone to T.J. Maxx instead.

“I’m sorry, but we’re by appointment only.”

I turned to find a somber-looking woman in an immaculate shift dress rounding a glass counter. With high black stilettos, a dress cinched tightly around her waist by a silver belt, and hair was slicked back from her face like wet paint, she reminded me of the egrets that went fishing in Jamaica Pond.

I smiled. Brendan would appreciate the analogy. “Oh, I didn’t know. Can I make an appointment today, please?”

Her cheeks barely moved as she spoke. “We’re all booked up.”

I looked around the shop. I was the only customer here. “What about now? I won’t take long, really—I just wanted to look at the?—”

“I’m sorry,” the woman interrupted. She looked down her nose at me. Literally, since in those heels, she must have been a full foot taller. “You can’t afford an appointment.”

“I can’t afford an appointment…” I repeated. Then a light bulb turned on. “Oh, I see. You need a deposit? I can pay, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry, but no.” Her gaze raked down my frame, lingering on the hole in the knee of my jeans, my stained white sneakers, the mild pilling on the arms of my sweater. “We can’t help you.”

“I-I don’t understand.” My voice dropped, though the only other person in the shop was a clone of this woman, standing on the other side of the glass counter, watching us over a pair of designer glasses. “I have money.”

“Not much money.” The woman seemed so sure, especially as she gave a more meaningful inspection of my outfit. “Now, please. You’ll have to go.”

“Are you serious? I thought this kind of thing only happened in movies.” I looked toward the other woman. “Do you believe this?”

“Oh, I believe it,” she said before looking away as if she were bored.

Awkwardness filled the shop until the door opened, and a woman who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me entered.

The differences between us, however, were vast. She was dripping with diamonds, carried at least two full shopping bags from Valentino and Ralph Lauren, and had a pair of massive sunglasses atop a blowout that only someone incredibly wealthy could do on a daily basis.

“I’m looking for the Belvin bag,” she announced without so much as a hello.