PHILIP

W. J. looked at her broken shoe.  “What now?” she asked.  “I can’t walk around uneven like this and I don’t want to go barefoot.”

“How far away do you live?” I asked.

She looked uncomfortable and I realized that she might not want me to go to her residence.  After all, I couldn’t just wait in a cab while she ran upstairs to get a replacement pair of shoes.  We were one unit now.  For the next twenty-two hours, everything she did, I did.

I said quickly, “It will be faster just to buy a new pair of shoes.  Where’s the nearest mall?”

She said, “I think there’s a shoe store on the River Walk, but it’s for athletic shoes.”

“If we’re going to be walking a lot today, that sounds like a good idea.”

She made a little face.  “Running shoes with this suit?”

“Whatever you want is fine,” I said.  “But where should we go?”

She did a quick Google search on her phone, I hailed a cab, and within twenty minutes, we walked into a mall.  W. J. carried her shoes, so she didn’t walk awkwardly.

I saw a shoe store with designer brands on display in the windows, and I was surprised that she seemed to be walking past it.

“I thought we were getting shoes?” I said and stood my ground, which made her stop as well.

W. J. looked in the store window and said, “Oh.  No.  I can’t afford those.  One of the larger department stores will have dress shoes that will do just fine.”

“I’m buying,” I offered.

She looked at me quizzically.  “Why?”

It was the first time in my life a woman had asked me that.  “I suppose because we’re together and I can?” I said carefully.  “Why not?”

She said, “We’re not on a date.  You’re not responsible for my expenses.”

I was amused by her vehemence.  “Are you going to be a stickler on this?”

“I like to pay my own way,” she said.

“Very admirable.  But the longer we wait, the less time we have to do the other things on our list.”

She hesitated.  “You’re right.  You have more money than you know what to do with.  I should just say, “thank you” and not think about it.”

I smiled.  “Exactly.”

We walked into the store and a male clerk asked what we were looking for.  “Navy pumps,” she said.  “Size eight.”

“And some flat sandals,” I said.

She looked at me sharply.

“We’re going to be walking a lot,” I reminded her.  “I don’t want another shoe accident.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything more.  We sat on two uncomfortable chairs, our hands still linked at the wrist.  W. J. placed the broken shoes and her purse on another chair beside us.

The clerk hurried behind the checkout counter to a back room where there were shoes.

While we waited, I checked my emails.  I scrolled through my inbox, but then ignored them when W. J. said, “I remember reading one time that it wasn’t worth Bill Gate’s time to pick up a one-hundred-dollar bill if it was lying on the ground.”

“I’m not as rich as Bill Gates,” I said simply.  Last I heard, Bill was worth nearly a hundred billion.

“So, are you saying you’d pick up a hundred-dollar bill?”

“Actually, no,” I said honestly.

She smiled triumphantly.  “See?  I’m right.”

“No,” I said.  “I’d leave it for someone else.  I don’t need it, and it might help someone.  Or the original owner might be looking for it.  Besides, it might be a joke or prank, with someone filming and I wouldn’t want to be all over YouTube.”

She said, “Does that happen very often?  Are you that famous?”

“No.  Occasionally someone notices me, but for the most part, I’m just another business man.”  I smiled.  “Now if you’re talking about my brother Conrad, that’s different.  He is always being hounded.”

She frowned slightly, her lovely brows furrowing.  “Conrad Nilsson?  I don’t know him.”

“He goes by Con Rad.  R-A-D.”  I thought the name was affected and ridiculous, but when Conrad started his music career, he didn’t want everyone to know that he was a trust fund baby.  It didn’t fit his southern rock image.

Her eyes widened.  “Really?  Con Rad is your brother?  I love his music.”

I sighed.  “Nearly everyone does,” I said dryly, just as the store clerk returned with a tower of shoe boxes.

“You’re related to Con Rad?” the clerk asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing.”

I smiled.  “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” I said, and the clerk returned his attention to the task at hand.

“Yes, sir.”

I watched as W. J. tried on several pairs of navy pumps.  She had pretty feet and her toes were painted a pale pinky beige that matched her fingernails.  She was wearing ultra-sheer nude hose that was now snagged and had several noticeable runs.

She tsked her tongue as she surveyed the damage.  She whispered, “After we buy shoes, we need to find a bathroom and I’ll get rid of the pantyhose.”

That was going to be interesting.  We weren’t contortionists.  I said, “We can buy another pair while we’re here.”

“Okay.”

When W. J. found a pair of shoes she liked, we both walked across the store to make certain they fit comfortably.  It was odd for us to walk together, and the clerk noticed the handcuffs on our wrists.  “It’s a bet,” I said firmly when I saw him staring at us, and he looked away.

“Yes, sir.”

Later, after I paid for the shoes and we left the store, W. J. said, “I think you scared him.”

“Scared him, how?  He just made a big commission.”  In the end, we’d bought three pairs of shoes.  One pair of navy pumps with a moderate heel and two pairs of sandals because we each liked different styles best.  She wore the pumps and the sandals were in our shared backpack.  I had convinced her to throw out the ruined pair of shoes.  “We don’t have room for them,” I said, and eventually she agreed with me.

She said, “You’re very polite, but occasionally, when you are annoyed, the dragon comes out.”

I was amused.  “Dragon?”

“Yes, like you’re going to eat someone if they don’t obey immediately.  Or breath fire on them.  You did it just now with the clerk.  Whenever he talked about something you didn’t like, you cut him off.”

“Is that how you see me?

She said, “It’s subtle, but it’s there.  You’re a rich man, used to getting your own way.”

I supposed I was.  But I wasn’t going to get my way with her.  Remember the fiancé, I said to myself for the umpteenth time.  As much as I was enjoying my time with W. J., today was all the time we would have together.  I said calmly, “Where are we going next?”

She pointed to the end of the mall’s wing.  We then walked into a department store and W. J. chose a pair of pantyhose.

“Make that two,” I said.

She looked at me sharply.

“I was a Boy Scout.  I believe in being prepared.”

“All right,” she said and let me pay for them.  We then found the department store bathrooms and went into a small room marked as a Family Restroom.  There was a drop-down changing table, one toilet, one sink.  I locked the door.  The last thing I wanted was someone to join us.

W. J.’s face was slightly pink.  She said, “This is going to be awkward.”

I nodded and said, “I’ll just close my eyes and let you do whatever you want with my left hand.”

“All right.”  She took a deep breath and I closed my eyes.

I could hear fabric rustle as she pulled up her pencil skirt.  I tried not to image what that might look like.  My left hand briefly touched something silky, a slip perhaps?

“Sorry,” I said quietly.  It didn’t seem right to use a normal voice when she was changing clothes.

“It’s all right,” she breathed out.

I then heard the sound of elastic being stretched and she said, “You’re going to have to bend down a little.”

I bent down, as she bent over, slipping the pantyhose from her legs. I was so close, I could smell her warm, natural scent as well as hints of Chanel.  It was intoxicating.  When she stepped out of the hose, she nearly lost her balance, making us both falter and for an instant I opened my eyes and saw her looking at me.  I quickly closed my eyes again.

“Sorry,” she whispered huskily.

“It’s all right.”

“Whew,” she said when it was over.  I heard her smoothing her skirt down.  “You can open your eyes now.”

I opened my eyes and her face was red as she said, “I think I’ll go bare legged rather than wear hose.”

That was a good idea.  I wasn’t sure I could handle another moment with my hand under her skirts.  I smiled at our reflection in the large mirror and straightened my tie.  Keep it clean, Philip.

She smiled and said nervously, “It’s not like I’m the Duchess of Cambridge, after all.”

I didn’t understand the reference.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Kate Middleton.  The Duchess of Cambridge.  She’s not allowed to go bare legged in public. She has to wear hose.  It’s a royal rule.”

“Is it really?”

“That’s what I’ve read online,” she said.

“Well,” I said.  “I have never noticed, although the Duchess always looks lovely.”

She gasped, “You’ve met her?”

I nodded.  “I’ve been introduced to her and Will, although I am not on a first name basis, by any means.  We’ve spoken a few times when they’ve stayed at one of the Nilsson hotels.”  As the Vice President of Business Development, I had met members of many royal families over the years.

W. J. whistled.  “Wow.”

“What?”

“You and I live in very different worlds.”