“I just want you to have anything you want,” he says. “You don’t have to be shy about it. Really. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you.”
I feel my face flush. It’s not that I’m not grateful – I am – but I find it hard to accept this kind of gift. I don’t want him to spend too much on me. And besides, however much I may love the idea of buying a gorgeous designer dress from a top fashion house, I doubt they would have anything that might fit me – and I don’t want to go through the embarrassment.
“I just haven’t seen anything I really want yet,” I tell him, but I can see that he’s not convinced.
We come to a floor full of womenswear, and even simply walking around the rooms, displayed around a central railing that looks down through the floors below past a magnificent hanging sculpture, is awe-inspiring. All of these beautifully detailed gowns and shirts and knitwear pieces hanging on the racks, with name cards hanging above them of the most famous designers. I hardly dare to touch them, but I look at everything with wide eyes. So, this is how the rich live.
“Will you be alright looking around here on your own for a minute?” Edward asks me, out of the blue. He has a distracted look on his face. “I want to go talk to someone – the man who does my personal styling whenever I’m here. I’ll be back from the menswear floor in a moment.”
“Alright,” I say, not wanting to hold him back – even if I will feel a bit more awkward wandering around on my own.
I don’t have to wait too long, as it happens. I’m exploring a room filled with one-off vintage pieces when Edward reappears – and behind him a tall, willowy woman with clear eyes, clear skin that shines as if polished, and beautifully cut hair. She looks like a model, and given where we are, I can’t help but expect that she is.
“Casey,” Edward says. “This is Mara. She’s a personal stylist here, too.”
I look at Mara with a moment of confusion before it starts to become clear. “That’s why you went to talk to your stylist?”
“I wanted a recommendation,” he says with a smile.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Casey,” Mara says, her words toned with an English accent. “I’d like to help you pick out a new outfit. Why don’t we talk about the kind of things you like to wear?”
I try to fight down the embarrassment and awkwardness, but I feel my cheeks heating up. “Oh, I don’t know… I didn’t think you would have anything that fits me.”
I don’t dare look at Edward to see his reaction, but Mara only smiles. “Actually, we have a lot of sizing options for many of our collections. Our customers don’t all wear a size six.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Then… I suppose I would like to get a new dress.”
“No expense spared,” Edward puts in quickly. “Don’t even tell her the prices, Mara. I’m picking up the bill.”
After those words, everything seems to go by in a blur. Mara asks me quick-fire questions about what I like, how I feel the most comfortable, the colors I normally wear, even what kind of occasions I might be wearing the dress to. Then she hurries me off to a dressing room while she picks out dress after dress for me to slip into, cooing and praising me whenever I emerge. At last, I think I’ve found the one, a shimmery blue fabric teased into a Greek-style robe, hanging around my body in flattering drapes from a central halter that is encrusted with beads. It looks classic and timeless – which has to be a good choice if this is the only designer piece I can ever afford to own.
I walk out of the changing room area to find Edward, sitting in a chair and flicking through something on his phone. He looks up when I come out, and his eyes go wide.
“Yes,” he says, immediately.
“Yes?” I ask, giggling a little. I feel giddy. It must be the Liberty experience.
“Buy it right now,” he says. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
I grin and twirl for him, letting the fabric fan out around me for a moment. “I take it you approve, then?”
“Casey,” Edward tells me evenly. “Go and get changed so we can buy that dress, before I ravage you right here in the middle of the store.”
I squeal with laughter and rush back to the changing rooms, doing as I’m told. I don’t need to hear it from him twice – this day is getting better and better already.
When we emerge from Liberty with a pretty purple bag slung over Edward’s arm – since he insists on carrying it for me – I feel as bright inside as the sunny day that awaits us. We stroll a little longer through the colorful Carnaby Street area, before Edward suggests we head somewhere else.
I follow along, sensing the air of mystery, not asking him where we’re going. I have the feeling that he’ll just give me a vague answer or tell me to wait and see, and I’ve started to realize that it’s better to let Edward surprise me – because his surprises are always worth it.
“Here we are,” he says, checking his watch as we walk towards the famous Browns. “Just in time for afternoon tea.”
My hand flies to cover my mouth, and I try to hold back a shout of delight. Afternoon tea at Browns’ was one of the key highlight experiences I heard about when I researched my trip to London – something that is recommended for everyone to do. And Edward organized it without telling me, even though you have to book in advance.
