Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
She trailed off, letting out a hard breath.
“You’re talking about Giorgio Russo, right? And his wife?”
“Well, she’s long dead. Long live the bastard, though. He survives despite my constant hopes and prayers.” Her stepmother wouldn’t lift her gaze in that moment. “The mother I did have ended up seeing me as a problem the older I got, and I never learned the mother I came from who left me on the back steps of that church. Frankly, I hope she’s dead, too.”
“Huh. I’m sorry,” Frankie said quietly, not knowing what else to say.
Carina only laughed, standing without warning as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t worry. Enough of this, I have things for you. Three things, actually. Only two are birthday gifts, though. Your prom dress came in from the seamstress this morning. You are gonna die.”
Oh, yeah.
That.
“So, uh,” Frankie drawled, following after Carina deeper into the space, “here’s the thing about prom. I forgot that it was happening, and I don’t have a date.”
“You’re not serious!” Carina spun so fast on her heels, she left marks on the marble floor. “And you just realized this when?”
“This morning. That was the...thing.”
Red stiletto fingernails tapped against Carina’s painted lips as she glanced up at the massive crystal chandelier overhead, contemplating something unknown to Frankie. She waited her out.
It didn’t take long.
“Okay, we’ll get back to that. What I have for your birthday is more important anyway,” Carina muttered, turning right back. Her fast walk continued, heels clicking on the floor while Frankie trailed behind in silence. They headed for the spiral staircase, leading upstairs to the second floor of the closet and where Carina’s most expensive bags were displayed along with the ones which needed locked away in the safe room. “I’m sure you remember what you asked for from your father, right?”
“Obviously. Why?”
“He thought I was better suited to take care of procuring one of the gifts. He just didn’t realize something...well, to be honest, he forgot about the one thing until I reminded him, and I already had something else in the works. It took some time and money. A lot of money.”
“Um...are we talking Hermès, here?”
“Baby, I don’t speak no other language.”
She made a happy noise and did a little dance behind Carina “Oh, my God. I am gonna die!”
Glancing over her shoulder, Carina asked, “You didn’t seriously think when you asked for a Hermès bag that your father was just going to go grab whatever off the fucking rack that they would offer, did you?”
“Well—”
Carina just waved her hand in response. “Uh-huh. You know I’ve got connections. Keep up.”
A few more steps brought them to the top floor. Birkin heaven awaited. Carina also owned Kellys, the minis, Simones, and matching clutches to go with nearly any bag she took off the glass shelves that filled floor to ceiling all around the room. And despite what Carina said about only speaking Hermès, she did have an extensive luxury bag collection across a variety of designers, including vintage pieces, and ones previously owned by celebrities or other important figures. She once asked how much the collection was worth, which led her stepmother to pull out an insurance document signed off by an appraiser who had come to properly estimate the total dollar. It had been a lot of zeroes at the end of a very big number.
By the look of the opened safe door and the table just beyond the threshold, her stepmother had set up a table earlier with a few of the Birkin 30s in her collection that she knew Frankie loved the most. What sat in the very middle, however, higher than the others on a signature orange Hermès box caught Frankie’s attention immediately. There waited the most beautiful bag she had ever seen. A dual-color, pink and cream, ostrich leather with gold hardware Birkin 30.
“Now,” Carina started as she approached the table, “I’ve sat out all the ones I know you like in case the one I got you isn’t to your taste, but—”
“Please tell me that one is mine,” Frankie whispered.
Carina nodded, glancing between the bag and Frankie as she replied, “I had it made. When I got the option to start working on my own custom bag with Hermès, I already had them all in every variant and color practically. So, when I put in the request, I did so with you in mind. It took three years to get that bag, and the receipt is in the box, for authentication, but we are not talking about the price. Do you understand me?”
Frankie bounced on the spot. “I understand.”
Her stepmother laughed. “Okay, take it. That one’s from me. The other one, though...”
At those words, she froze. Her hand had just wrapped around the supple leather of the bag. “What do you mean?”