CHAPTER 60: SHOPPING

The next morning, after spending their day reuniting, eating late, sharing gossips, Erisia laying everything out for Rita—the apartments, the money, and her plan to spoil herself for this week. She wanted to go shopping and her eyes sparkled in a way Rita hadn’t seen before.

Truthfully, it had been only a short time in this world, but to Erisia, it felt like ages. She missed the warmth of her own space—four walls that were hers to decorate, to fill with her scent, her touches, her comforts. In her last life, she’d spent months in a hospital. Even before that, she’d never really had a place she could truly call home. No wonder she was practically glowing at the thought of their new apartment. This felt like a reprieve, and she intended to savor every second.

Rita blinked at her across the table, surprised at the almost girlish excitement—but it was contagious. Soon she found herself just as driven for the outing.

When Rita was picking her outfit, Erisia, already dressed, drifted into her room. Rita turned—and let out a sharp whistle.

"Well, well," she drawled. "Looks like someone’s dressed up. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were going on a date."

Erisia leaned against the doorframe, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her hair was styled in a half-up, half-down cascade, two soft curls framing her face. Rita had never seen her like this—soft but elegant, a little dreamy, even.

She wore a light purple off-shoulder dress printed with delicate florals. It fell to her ankles in layered ruffles, flowing easily with every step. White straps framed her shoulders, and matching heels peeked from beneath the hem—simple but undeniably elegant, perfect for a warm, sunlit day.

The dress had been ordered during the weekend and it was delivered shortly after Erisia arrived.

Rita’s jaw actually dropped. "Okay, you win. This is a look."

Erisia shrugged lightly, crossing the room to sit on the edge of Rita’s bed. "We’re going to a high-end boutique. Of course we have to dress the part."

Rita narrowed her eyes. "High-end boutique? Didn’t you say you only got a few million? I know for a fact the clothes there start in the four figures. Ten dresses and we’re talking, what, twenty thousand?"

Erisia laughed, shaking her head. "Not twenty thousand. I’m planning to spend close to fifty."

Rita choked. "You—fifty? You’re insane! It’s like it’s in your DNA. Rich people stay rich in the soul."

Erisia gave a mock bow. "Thank you."

Rita rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. "Whatever. Where exactly are we going?"

"Bergdorf Goodman," Erisia said, almost offhandedly, as if it were nothing. She’d been there plenty in her previous life, always preferring its interiors over the other stores.

Rita stared at her. "What the—?! Celebrities go there!"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god." Rita clasped her hands like she was at an altar. "From now on you are officially my bestest friend. Help me find a floral dress too, please."

Erisia laughed again.

With their bellies full, their outfits chosen, and their plans set, they hailed a cab and slipped inside. The city rolled past their windows in a blur of sunlight and steel. For once, Erisia let herself lean back, the corners of her mouth still tilted upward.

...

They arrived at the boutique—a glass façade with clean, muted signage and tall windows revealing gleaming mannequins dressed in seasonal collections. Inside, a hush enveloped them as the automatic doors slid open.

A concierge in a tailored blazer smiled politely at the entrance while two sales associates stepped away from displays to welcome them. One of the associates moved forward.

"Welcome to Bergdorf Goodman. May I assist you this morning?"

"Yes," Erisia said evenly. "Could you show me the latest arrivals? Particularly the spring line from Zimmerman, and any Alexander McQueen evening pieces that came in this week."

"Of course. Please, this way." The associate gestured toward a row of gowns.

As they walked, Rita leaned close, whispering, "Since when do you sound like that?"

"Like what?" Erisia’s tone stayed casual, her gaze fixed ahead.

"Like someone who shops here every weekend," Rita muttered.

Erisia’s lips curved faintly. "I’ve done this before." Then she leaned down and whispered, "In my last life."

Rita leaned back, giving her a stink eye, making Erisia laugh.

When they got to the shop floor, Rita looked around wide-eyed, then leaned in to whisper, "Alexander McQueen? Zimmerman Spring Line? Erisia, what the hell are we doing here? I thought you just wanted casual dresses—why are you looking at evening gowns? And those very revealing spring pieces?"

"I’m not buying spring outfits, okay? There are just two items I’ve been wanting from here." Erisia’s tone was calm, almost indulgent. "If you look around, you might find something you like too. After that, we’ll head to The Row. Don’t worry, it’s not too much."

With that, she followed the staff toward an aisle lined with sleek evening dresses.

Rita stared at her back and shook her head, muttering, "Seriously." But then she sighed and began browsing as well.

A few minutes later, they stepped out with three dresses carried neatly in the assistant’s arms. They passed Chanel, Dior, Oscar de la Renta—sections carefully curated like miniature boutiques within the boutique. When Erisia’s steps slowed, it was in front of a spacious, minimalist corner: The Row.

The racks here were spare, each garment given breathing room. Coats in soft beige and deep navy, dresses in crisp ivory silk, trousers that draped with exacting precision. The palette was hushed, elegant—almost severe in its simplicity.

Erisia reached out, fingers grazing the sleeve of a cashmere coat. She lifted it slightly from the hanger, appraising it with the ease of someone who understood tailoring, weight, and texture.

"How’s the shoulder line?" she asked casually, half to herself, half to the air.

The staff member who had been observing from a polite distance stepped forward immediately, her voice low and respectful. "That piece is from this season’s collection. Double-faced cashmere, cut in Florence. It holds the structure beautifully while remaining light."

Erisia gave a small nod, neither overly impressed nor dismissive. "Mm. I can see that." She set the coat back neatly.

"I’ll take two of these, and bring me others with the same aesthetic. Let’s make it five."

"Of course," the staff replied with a deferential smile jotting notes on a slim tablet before going off to make arrangements.

Behind her, Rita’s eyes were the size of saucers. "Five coats? Five? Do you even know how much those cost? You could buy a car!"

Erisia tilted her head, unbothered. "No, I can’t and cars depreciate. Coats don’t." She smoothed a fold of fabric back into place, then added mildly, "Besides, I don’t have a car."

"That’s not the point!" Rita hissed, then groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "God, you’re impossible."

Unruffled, Erisia’s gaze moved along the racks—silk shirts, fluid trousers, a structured ivory dress. "Let’s look through some of the casual pieces before we leave," she said. "You’ll like this section more."

Rita gave a snort, still half-scandalized but already drifting closer. "Fine. But I swear if you pick up a skirt that costs my rent for the year, I’m disowning you as my best friend."

"You don’t pay rent, Rita." Erisia chuckled softly and plucked a pale blue shirt-dress from the rack, turning it toward her. "This would actually look good on you."

The associate reappeared, carrying a selection of coats over one arm and glancing at the dress Erisia held. "That’s one of our most popular transitional pieces. It’s versatile, very flattering on different body types."

"Her size, please," Erisia said, passing it over without hesitation.

Rita blinked. "Wait—I didn’t even say I wanted—"

"Yes, you did," Erisia interrupted, her tone calm but final. "Yesterday. You said you wanted something easy but lustrous."

Rita opened her mouth, then shut it again, grinning despite herself. "...Okay, fine. I did say that."

The associate smiled knowingly and slipped away to fetch another size. Rita, still shaking her head, muttered under her breath, "Seriously, I don’t know whether to thank you or strangle you."

Erisia’s lips curved faintly. "Thank me. Strangling me won’t get you the dress."

Erisia’s gaze shifted along the racks. Past the outerwear, she paused at a row of understated pieces.

There was a soft ivory silk blouse, the kind that draped fluidly without clinging, its cuffs subtly elongated for elegance. Next to it hung high-waisted wool trousers in muted dove gray. Erisia touched the hem of a knit top, fine-gauge cashmere in a pale sand shade, feather-light yet undeniably expensive.

"These are good for everyday," she murmured, half to herself. "Casual."

The associate stepped closer, hands folded neatly. "This collection is designed for versatility. The knitwear pairs beautifully with denim or skirts, and the shirt dress"—she pulled a simple black piece from the rack—"is cut to flatter without fuss. It transitions easily from day to evening."

Erisia glanced over, then lifted the shirt dress to study it. The silhouette was loose yet structured, belted at the waist.

"That one," she said. "And the ivory blouse with the trousers. Add the knit as well. Rita—try the sand-colored one. It’ll soften your look without taking away your edge."

Rita blinked, then shyly slipped the sweater against her frame in the mirror. A grin broke over her face before she even spoke. "Okay... I actually love this. You’re good."

"Of course I am," Erisia replied simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.