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"So, just for the record..."
Mei cranes her neck back and back and back, tracing a pillar in the living room that stretches two-stories high, one of five in between the solid walls of glass. "When you said you were fake dating a rich boy, I didn't know you meant RICH rich. This is the nicest apartment I've ever been in, which is really saying something."
I chuckle awkwardly, picking at the side of my nail. "Uhh, yeah. I'm still getting used to it."
It's the first time we've seen each other since I spilled the deets regarding my odd predicament, explaining how Hayden swindled her into setting me up on a blind date, while having ulterior motives. And while she did take everything quite well—a little too well, if you ask me—it's still a little weird. But maybe fake relationships aren't that uncommon in upper society, which Mei certainly stems from.
Though, apparently not this sort of wealth.
With every step, her knee-high boots click against the ground as she meanders alongside the glass, daring much closer than I would.
In awe, she gazes straight down, a near one-hundred-story drop, then flicks her attention across the huge space, inspecting the room, like she has all the others since arriving—with keen eyes.
"And the artwork is fantastic." She motions toward an accent wall, stopping before a gigantic canvas wrapped in an intricate gold frame.
I tilt my head right along with her, admiring this particular painting for perhaps the fifth time since moving in. Judging by the figures portrayed, the art piece is surely hundreds of years old, although I couldn't possibly name off the era. But I let it transport me there, anyway.
Sitting in a dimly lit grand hallway, women in elegant dresses sit upon fine upholstery, reading books and conversing with distinguished gentlemen, who sport top hats, fitted waistcoats, and linen shirts. Some even hold canes with white-gloved fingers. Lavishness and privilege is their backdrop, accented by oriental rugs, gilded mirrors, elaborate crystal chandeliers, and—
"This is definitely a Victorian piece." Mei pulls me from my fixation, answering my unspoken question. She points. "See this lady's outfit? That's a bustle dress, and the fan she's holding is made of palm leaves. And this gentleman..." she trails off, reciting facts with the fluency of a Jeopardy contestant.
"The artist's manipulation of medium is breathtaking, almost velvety, by their rich use of oil. It's just... wow," she sighs. "It's obviously an original, which must've cost Hayden millions. I could give a pretty accurate guess, but..." She tilts her head to the other side, nearing closer. "There's no signature. That's odd..." Her voice fades into a murmur, her mind swirling like some artistic Sherlock Holmes, riddled with mysteries and hypotheticals.
I tug on her sleeve. "If you think this painting is crazy, just wait for the rest of the tour. Some hallways may as well be inside a museum. A lot of them have an older feel, like this one, but"—I motion back to the living room, diverting her attention, lest we stare at this one the entire night—"I'd say the pieces do an impressive job at blending in with the modern space, but I'm no expert."
She hums in agreement, re-directing her artistic eye onto the contemporary chandeliers and wrap-around couch, the staircase winding up to another floor, and the massive fireplace, which earns a warm smile.
"My room didn't do your vase justice," I say, gesturing toward the mantel.
"No? I think it would look quite lovely beside your stripper pole."
I roll my eyes. "I told you, it's not mine."
"Mhmm, sure. Have you given it a spin yet?" Oh my God, here we go. I only shake my head. "Give Hayden a little show?"
"What? No!"
"Come on. I know you want to." I shove her shoulder, prying a laugh from her. "Okay, fine, maybe you don't. Although, maybe he could give you a show. I saw how hot he was at work—he really does his profile picture justice. But have you seen... more of him?"
I suck in a breath.
"You so have!" she squeals, and before I can even attempt denying, she interrupts, "How? Did you two..."
"No!" Oh, screw it, I can't flat-out lie. So, I'll... sprinkle in a little truth. "Well... We grew up together, remember? And his family had a pool, so... I could probably guess he still looks..."
"Uh, huh, uh, huh." She eggs me on like a small-town gossip, desperate for information.
"He's uhh... not ugly."
She props a hand atop her hip, over her high-waisted miniskirt. "Not. Ugly? Could you elaborate a little?"
"I mean..." Heat crawls up my neck, as I'm unable to meet her gaze. Maybe it's the intensity of her winged liner, or the fullness of her false lashes, but it's like she's staring right into my mind. "He's..." Spit it out, spit it out. I clear my throat, giving her a composed shrug. "He's fine."
Her grin grows large.
"What?"
She snickers. "Juliana, every girl knows that's code for he's hot as fuck."
