Spying And Shopping

Nila's POV 

The evening is unusually warm, but a chill runs through me as I step out of the restaurant. My dad grabs my arm, rushing me toward the car while asking questions. I can’t focus on his words. I climb into the passenger seat, my legs shaking. The adrenaline is gone, and now I’m left with the aftermath.

I’ve never been as terrified as I was walking into that restaurant, unsure if they’d decided to kill us after all. Keeping calm and steady while facing that dangerous man took everything I had. A few times, I almost slipped, but if he’d sensed any weakness, it would’ve been over for my dad and me. His wheelchair didn’t fool me for a second. One look into his eyes told me exactly what he was a ruthless man who wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone.

Adrian Di Salis. I expected some old man with a potbelly. Why else would he need to force a woman into marriage? But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

During our short meeting, I kept my gaze on his as much as I could, but I still caught glimpses of him. Adrian was striking, even in the dim light. Though he sat in a wheelchair, I could tell he was tall,probably taller than me by at least a foot. To be honest, I felt a little relieved that he couldn’t stand. Tall men make me uncomfortable, and the thought of spending six months with one set my nerves on edge.

“Nila!” Dad’s shout pulls me back to the present. “Are you listening to me? What happened in there? I tried to come in, but his men stopped me.”

I take a deep breath, watching cars go by as I explain the basics of the deal Adrian and I struck. I leave out most of the details. Dad doesn’t need to know everything.

“Don’t tell Mom,” I warn as we pull into the driveway. “And act like you’ve never met Di Salis before. If anything looks off, the deal’s off.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if anyone, Mom included realizes I’m not madly in love with that man, we’re dead.”  

Later, I sit in a small changing room, staring at a pile of dresses that don’t fit. I want to cry. Every dress I try on makes me look ridiculous, like a kid playing dress-up in her mom’s clothes. I hate this.  

I’d been so distracted by thoughts of Adrian’s upcoming party that I forgot to buy a dress until this morning. Panic hit me over breakfast. Shopping for a dress that fits is always a nightmare, so finding one in just a few hours? Impossible.  

Now, five hours into my search, I still haven’t found anything. I love elegant clothes, but nothing fits. Most of the time, I shop in the teen section. It’s embarrassing, but at least the clothes there don’t make me look like I’m drowning in fabric. Tonight, though, I’d rather wear jeans than a tacky prom dress.  

My phone buzzes with an unknown number. I let it ring and focus on the last dres, a  silky green one that’s gorgeous but clearly not made for someone my size. The phone rings again. This time, I answer.

“Hello?” I snap, balancing the phone on my shoulder while unbuttoning the dress.

“Nila Roberts,” a deep voice replies, freezing me in place. “I’m checking in to make sure everything is on tracky it's Adrian Di Salis.”

“Of course, Mr. Di Salis. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because Sergio just told me you’ve been in a changing room for nearly an hour.”

What?! I grab the curtain to storm out, but then I remember,I’m in my underwear. I lower my voice. “You’re spying on me?”

“Not spying,” he says calmly. “Sergio is just ensuring you don’t disappear before holding up your end of our deal.”

I pick the green dress off the floor. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m trying to find a dress for your party. Call off your watchdog, Mr. Di Salis.”

“Still no dress?” he asks after a pause. “The party is in four hours.”

“I know!” I shout. “But nothing fits.”

He sighs, then says, “Stay where you are.” The call ends.

I stare at the phone, confused. “What the hell?”

Grumbling, I gather the dresses and return them to the sales assistant. I’m about to leave when I spot a familiar face, the man who stood behind Adrian during our meeting.  

He gestures toward the elevator. “Come with me. They’re waiting for you.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” I ask, stepping inside.

“The boutique staff.”

“Which boutique?”

“The most expensive one. I didn’t catch the name.”

“I can’t afford that.”

“Adrian’s paying.”

I start to argue but stop. If Adrian is forcing me into this marriage, he can foot the bill for the dress.

An hour and a half later, I leave the boutique with a perfectly tailored dress, new heels, and a clutch. I wonder what Adrian wi

ll think of it. One thing’s for sure, he won’t like the price tag.