“I’m here, aren’t I?” Instead of typing the legal briefs Declan needs, and studying for my exam in Criminal Law, and prepping for my upcoming mock trial.
Mallory eyes me, surprised by my tone given how anything I say will get back to my father. At this point, I don’t care. She’s betrayed me constantly to stay in Father’s good graces, giving no thought to how it affected me, or how badly I needed a supportive parent in my life.
In fact, Mallory married Father six months after my estranged mother’s suicide. We’ve never been close. To her I’m simply a burden to endure in order to belong to a family of prestige.
She never realized what marrying my father would cost her.
At only forty, and twenty years his junior, she is well within my father’s grip. She sits beside me, ramrod straight as he expects, dressed in suits or dresses he selects, belonging to charities and clubs he’s forced her to join, and associating with only women he approves.
While she enjoys certain perks I lack, like a cellphone and a car, they come at the price of being married to a dictator. Yet she stays, holding tight to her lavish home and lifestyle.
“Perhaps something in more classic tones,” she suggests when I say nothing more.
I glance around the shop. Curran would call it an old biddy’s wet dream, or something to that effect. I smile to myself, thinking about all the inappropriate comments that would shoot out of his mouth if he were here.
Mmm. That mouth.
I pass my fingertips along my lips, remembering the sweep of his tongue and how the stubble on his jaw had grazed my skin.
Damn, it was an amazing moment, until it wasn’t.
Sorry, he said.
I shouldn’t have done that to you, he added.
I know he didn’t mean to insult me. Curran isn’t cruel. But his reaction was an emotional blow I didn’t need, and one that really hurt.
God, Curran.
“Are you all right, Contessa?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, keeping my eyes ahead.
Three more gowns. Three more atrocities. “Just pick something,” she hisses when I pass on something that resembles a bicycle reflector instead of a piece of clothing I’d slip over my head. “I have a Daughters of the Confederacy meeting to attend. You know how testy they can be when someone arrives late.”
I fold my hands on my lap and try to breathe. This is the future that awaits me if I don’t break free of my father. “Do you have something more trendy?” I ask the store owner. “Perhaps something in black?”
The poor woman nods, and shuffles to the back of the store. I don’t want to be here, any more than her or Mallory. What I want is to see Curran, even though he may not want to see me.
When the store owner returns and shows me the next gown, I almost can’t believe my eyes. The gown is reminiscent of a dark sky filled with stars, like midnight in the summer along the shore. It’s all black, covered in iridescent beading that circles the turtleneck and swirls out and into the long sleeves.
I cross the small space, hardly believing a gem exists in this sea of paisley and polyester. “It’s stunning. I’d like to try it on, please.”
“No,” Mallory insists, forcing a laugh as she addresses the owner. “Forgive me, but your instructions were for more conservative and traditional attire. This is too, ah, formfitting.”
She means sensual. “I like it,” I say, quietly.
I pass the stretchy material along my hands, examining it closely. With a smile, I lift the dress from the woman’s arms and place it against me, ignoring Mallory’s warning.
“It will look gorgeous on you,” the woman says, her face beaming.
Her kindness makes me smile even more. “I hope so. May I use one of your dressing rooms to see if it fits?”
The woman motions to the right. “Of course, dear.”
My first thought is of Curran, and whether he would like it. It’s a silly thought, but if he liked me enough to kiss me in my old-lady shoes and nerdwear, maybe he’ll reconsider that kiss and a lot more if he sees me in this dress.
“Contessa, your father won’t approve,” Mallory insists.