Page 41 of Her Kensington
She huffs out a giant breath but she doesn’t look as pissed off as I was expecting her to. Her eyes actually flash with something else entirely.
It takes us over an hour for us to find a bag that we both agree on, which just so happens to be the one I originally suggested as a cheaper option.
With her new purchase swinging from her fingertips in a bright yellow bag, we take the escalator up to the ladies department and make our way through the lavish clothes.
“What the hell is that?” I ask in amazement when I round the corner and see some ghastly yellow and orange dress.
“Disgusting is what it is,” I hear Cassie agree from behind me.
Turning the tag over, my eyes nearly pop out of my head when I see the four-figure price. “Does anyone actually buy this stuff?”
I’m not really expecting an answer so I’m surprised when I hear Cassie beside me. “You’d be surprised to see what some people wear just to look rich.”
“Oh?”
“You should see some of the crap Mum owns. I wouldn’t be caught dead in half of it.”
I should probably chastise her for her language but I’m too intrigued to find out a little more about Rebecca from a different perspective.
“She’s into her designer clothes then?”
“You could say that. Everything has to have a label, and the more obvious the better. She wants everyone to know she has money. She puts so much effort into worrying about what other people think; it’s exhausting to watch.”
“So you’re not the same then?” I ask, thinking about her need for a designer school bag.
“Not as much. I like designer stuff, it’s what everyone at school has and I want to fit in, but it’s not who I am.”
Relief washes through me. I didn’t realise I was worried about her being a miniature version of her mother, but hearing her say those things allows me to see my fears, my concern that we’d never get on if she was like that.
“I’ve never bought designer anything,” I admit, much to Cassie’s surprise.
“Not even a bag? Shoes?”
“No. We didn’t have a lot of money growing up. I knew my parents couldn’t afford it so I never really worried about it. The money your dad spends on stuff blows me away.”
“You don’t want him for his money, do you?” she asks, her eyes narrowed slightly.
“No, not at all. It actually makes me uncomfortable.”
She nods at me and I see her lips begin to twitch at the edges.
“Shall we get a coffee?” That soon stops her smile as her lips turn down in disgust. “You don’t like coffee?”
“No, it’s gross.”
“It seems like we’ve got a lot to learn from each other. Come on.” I thread my arm through hers and to my surprise she doesn’t pull away as we head towards the café, the scent of the dark roasted beans guiding the way.
I order her a mocha and myself a cappuccino along with a cupcake for each of us. I’m much more relaxed after our little bonding session while standing next to arguably the most hideous dress I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Let’s give this a try then,” she says, lifting her mug up to her lips. I watch as she takes a hesitant sip. Her eyelids lower for a beat before she looks up at me. Her dark eyes are full of life and so familiar to me that it has my heart twisting. “That’s good.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think I’m a convert.” I can’t help laughing as I take a sip of my own coffee. “You’re not too bad either,” I hear whispered from behind her mug. My heart starts to race as a feeling of acceptance washes through me.
“What was that?” I ask, thinking I must be hearing things.
“Nothing.” But I know she’s lying; I can see it in her eyes.
