“You’re still up,” Alice says as she walks in the door.
Without emotion, I lift my head to greet her.
“Yeah, I can’t sleep,” I say before returning my focus to the credit card.
“Everything okay?” she asks, leaning on the other side of the breakfast bar, crossing her arms at her wrists. “Is that a credit card? How did you get one of those?”
I gaze at her through my lashes and watch as she releases her hair from its ponytail, allowing her glossy locks to cascade down her back. She returns to her original position. Only then do I sit up and mirror her position.
I nestle the card between my thumb and finger, and twist it around for her to see, and wait for her reaction. It doesn’t take long for it to register that the card’s not mine.
Her eyes widen as she slowly lifts herself from the breakfast bar and reaches for the card. While holding it delicately, she brings it closer to her face. Anyone would think she’s holding onto a precious jewel instead of a credit card.
“Is this real?” She flips the card over, checking for Angelo’s signature, then flips it back over to caress the raised letters and numbers with her finger. “Holy cow, this is Angelo Cappellini’s credit card!” The corners of her mouth hitch up. Her eyebrows arch as she looks at me. “Why do you have it?”
“He wants me to go shopping,” I sigh, emotionless.
“Seriously? Angelo gave you his credit card to go shopping?” Her smile fades when her eyes meet mine. She lowers her hands back down to the breakfast bar, the card still nestled between her fingers, and tilts her head and furrows her brow. “What’s wrong?”
I bury my face in my hands. “He wants me to buy new dresses.”
“Okay. What’s wrong with that?”
“He wants me to buy short dresses that reveal more skin.”
“Oh.”
Now she understands the fullness of my distress. By the time I lift my head, she mirrors my frown, though it doesn’t stay. Already, the cogs in her mind are turning as she formulates her plan. She taps her finger against her pouting lips, looking deep in thought.
“I can help you,” she tells me. “We’ll go first thing in the morning and I’ll help you pick out the dresses. Don’t worry, he’ll adore you in your new outfits.”
I can’t say I share her enthusiasm.
As I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, the evening’s events play on a continuous loop in my mind. Seeing Angelo with the blonde humiliated me. But then he called me and invited me to his home. But why? To lend me his credit card? He could have done that at the club.
I twist to lie on my side, curling my knees into my chest.
His scent saturates my hair and I inhale deeply. My eyes flutter closed and I allow his image to enter my mind.
Angelo sits before the fire, leaning on one elbow with his hands clasped together over his abdomen. Our eyes lock and I can’t prevent the hummingbird from fluttering around her cage.
He heaves himself up and leans close, allowing his fingertips to caress my cheek. A curve dances across his lips before he lowers his face to mine. Our noses kiss and I moisten my lips with the tip of my tongue. My breath becomes heavy as I await his kiss.
His fingers glide along my cheek to the back of my neck and entangle into my hair. The tip of his nose glides down the length of mine and my eyes flutter closed. His warm, soft lips find mine, sending tingles cascading down my body. Our lips move in time with each other’s. His tongue seeks mine, and I release a gentle moan of pleasure. My hands glide up his vest and encircle his neck.
With expertise, he lowers me down on the rug. The soft fur cradles me, while I feel his warmth on top of me. One of his hands travels the length of my body, awakening my desires for him. It reaches the hem of my dress, tickling my thigh.
I gasp, but no longer from the pleasure he brings. My eyes spring open, banishing the fantasy.
I trace the outline of the scars on my leg with my fingertip, feeling each ridge, each crevice crisscrosses one another.
Not that I expect us to kiss (let alone anything else) but how could Angelo fall for someone like me? I can never let him see the ugliness that was inflicted on me so long ago.
Disgusted by my scars, I abandon them and pull my pillow down to cradle it in my arms like a sleeping child.
Why did they have to hurt me? What was so horrible about me that they deemed it necessary to inflict such torture on me?
I release another anguished sigh as a rogue tear breaks from its confinement, and slithers down my face to soak into my hair. I close my eyes and allow my thoughts to return to Angelo. Only now, he wears the same disapproving stare he wore earlier when I announced my limited wardrobe. A look he would wear if he ever saw my scars.
“Morning, babe,” Alice greets me with a cheerful smile. She’s settled on the sofa with a cup of coffee nestled between her palms.
“How long have you been up?”
“About an hour.”
I glance over at the wall clock in our kitchen. It’s only eight o’clock.
“What time were you planning on dragging me shopping this morning?” I ask.
“I was going to give you another half hour before I woke you up.”
I can’t tell if she’s serious or not until she grins. But even then, it’s debatable. Alice’s enthusiasm for shopping is insatiable, something we don’t share.
“What time does Angelo want you in?” she asks me.
“He didn’t say.” I amble towards the sofa and sit beside her, stretching my nightgown over my knees.
“We should still leave early though.”
I rub my tired eyes with the heels of my hands. “What about breakfast?”
“Grab a bowl of cereal but make it quick.”
Though I glance over to the kitchen, I remain seated beside her. “Alice, why do you think he lent me his card? Is this an advanced paycheck or does he want something in return?”
She sips her coffee. “Personally, I don’t think it’s a loan.”
I readjust myself to face her, curling one leg on the sofa. As I scrutinize her serene features, trying to determine her thoughts, she chews on her bottom lip.
Icy tendrils slither around my spine, extending their vines throughout my body. “Oh, gosh. What?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Isn’t it obvious? You’ll be turning tricks at the club,” she says.
My mouth hangs agape as she continues to wear a composed expression, fueling my fear until the corners of her mouth twitch.
“Alice, that’s not funny!” I exclaim.
She clutches her stomach as she laughs, almost spilling her coffee all over herself. “You’re too easy to tease,” she giggles.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I mumble, pouting, before sulking back to my bedroom.
“Eva, I’m sorry,” she calls after me. “I don’t see Angelo asking for the money back or asking for anything in return.”
I ignore her, knowing full well she’s still silently laughing at me.
The tall, beautiful sales lady wears a disapproving expression as Alice and I enter her store. Had we known that one dress alone costs three hundred dollars in this store, we wouldn’t have worn our cheap jeans.
The beautiful blonde sashays her way around the cash register to lean back against the counter. She curls one long leg under her, resting the flat of her foot against the counter’s side, and drums her manicured fingernails. She stares down her nose at us, pursing her red-coated lips.
Everything about her radiates elegance. She wears a short, red pencil skirt, a white blouse with red trim, and a red pair of pointy-toed high-heeled shoes. Her straight, long golden-blonde hair drapes around her waist like a cloak. Despite her conceited demeanor, I can’t help but admire her beauty. Even her delicate makeup enhances her long features, though I’m sure she would be just as stunning without it.
“Can I help you?” she asks in a thick French accent, just as I reach out to touch a black dress in fron
t of me.
Like a child being caught trying to steal a cookie, I draw my hand back and hide it behind my back while emanating innocents from my widened eyes. What possessed me to assume I have permission to touch the merchandise?
With little effort, she pushes herself away from the counter and glides towards us. Her shimmering jungle-green eyes focus on me.
I shrink within my clothes.
As she stands tall before me, with one hand resting on her hip, I have to tilt my head to greet her. It doesn’t help that she holds her head high, proving we are beneath her.
A timid smile plays on my lips, only to fade when it isn’t returned.
“I have to buy new dresses. Boss’s request,” I say, just as timid as my smile.
“Hmm.” She smirks as her eyes travel the length of my attire.
All the moisture in my mouth depletes and I must resist the urge to chew on my fingernails. Instead, my hand creeps along my stomach to tug my jean-jacket closed, hiding my plain white t-shirt underneath.
“Can you afford anything from here?” she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.
“How about we come and get you if we need help?” Alice replies in annoyance.
The woman scoffs again.
A phone by the cash register shrills, saving us from this awkward interaction.
“Wait here,” she orders before sashaying back to her post to answer the phone.
For a moment, my body relaxes.
“It’s like that scene from Pretty Woman,” I whisper to Alice. “You know the part where they won’t let her buy the expensive clothes?”
Alice snickers.
The French woman glares at us in disgust.
I stand rigid. Even as my curious eyes survey the store, I feel I’m tarnishing the merchandise. The entire store gleams with elegance and grace.
I guess I can’t blame her for her pretentious behavior. Alice and I look like we emerged from a charity bin. Another flood of shame drenches me as my gaze falls to my scuffed red Converse. I should have removed them at the door so I wouldn’t dirty the white carpet.
After finishing her phone call, the saleslady returns to protect the clothes, securing her hand on her hip, her face fierce and ready to strike like a cobra.
How can I convince her that I can afford at least one dress?
I hide my hands in my jacket pockets. My fingertips caress the thin metal of the obviously high-end credit card before I weigh it in my hand and extract it from my pocket. Maybe if she sees the shiny black card, she will at least allow me to peek at the clothes from a distance.
The woman’s eyes travel down my arm until they reach the card. She tilts her head to read the name and her eyebrows raise. “Oh,” she says in a soft voice. “I didn’t realize you worked for Angelo. Well, this changes everything.”
I turn to Alice, giving her a bewildered look.
She shrugs her shoulders.
“My name is Elodie.” She stretches forth her hand with her fingers curling down. I’m unsure if I should shake it or kiss it.
After a quick debate, I slip my hand in hers, only to have Elodie retract her hand the moment our skin connects. Maybe this is how they greet each other in France.
“Let me select the correct attire for you. I know Angelo intimately, along with his tastes,” she purrs, arching one eyebrow seductively.
I crush my eyes closed, banishing the image of this woman in bed with Angelo from my mind.
“He has specific tastes, you know?” she continues, oblivious to my aversion. As she twirls on her heel, her hair fans out behind her, while her sweet perfume imbues my nostrils. “Let’s see. You’ll want this, and this, and this...”
She selects a variety of colored apparel from various racks, draping them over her arm. All I can do is follow along behind her like a well-trained puppy.
“Here, try these on.” She slides the crimson curtain of a changing room open, hangs the clothes on a rack tucked inside, and pushes me inside before closing the curtain behind me. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I stand awestruck before the clothes. Gingerly, I reach out to caress the fabrics with my fingertips. Each dress feels soft.
After admiring the clothes, I select a simple, turquoise, crepe dress with squared shoulders that cuts in close at the waist. As I stand before the mirror, I hold it against myself and gasp in horror.
It will conceal my chest but will leave the entire length of my legs bare. With the slightest movement, my panties will be on display. I can’t possibly wear this! Not only because of my scars but my dignity.
In repulsion, I slam the hanger back onto the rack and select the next one: a black, leather dress that appears extremely tight.
Oh yes, I’m sure the corset-style bodice will hold everything in place, including my ribcage.
“Oh gosh,” I say as I hold the dress against myself. The plunging neckline leads down to my belly button. This one joins its sibling on the rejection section of the rack.
“Is everything all right?” Elodie asks.
“Not exactly,” I mumble.
She yanks the curtain open. I abandon the clothing and focus on her. She purses her lips as she stares at me, then at the clothes on the rack.
“What’s wrong? Why haven’t you tried anything on?” she snaps.
“You can’t seriously expect me to wear any of this, can you?” I ask.
“What’s wrong with this?” She retrieves a vulgar, ebony tube top made of silk that leaves nothing to the imagination.
My jaw drops as revulsion saturates my self-worth. As I stare at the monstrosity, invisible bands tighten around my chest. My brow creases as I struggle to breathe. With no words, I peer around Elodie, looking for Alice. Hopefully, she will witness the desperation on my face and come to my rescue.
It doesn’t take long for my savior to notice my discomfort and liberate me.
“Um, Elodie?” She taps her on the shoulder.
Elodie twirls on her heel. “What?” she snaps.
“Eva has a slight problem.”
“Yes, I know. She doesn’t wish to please her boss.”
“She has certain marks on her body that no one should see.”
Elodie rests a hand on her hip, tapping her foot in annoyance.
Alice sighs. “Eva has scars on her legs and needs to hide them.”
Those magic words break the ice queen’s demeanor.
When Elodie turns back to face me, her disposition has softened. She returns the dress back to the rack with its companions and cups my chin with her slender fingers. “Why didn’t you say so?” she says.
How am I supposed to respond? It’s not like I openly discuss my mutations with others.
“Don’t worry,” she continues. “Angelo cannot resist you in anything I dress you in, I promise.” She releases my chin, and seizes my arm, tugging me from the changing room. “Come, let us start over.”
Like a small child, I trot along behind Elodie, desperate to keep up. I fear my clumsy feet will falter, and I will tumble to the ground.
She releases her grip on my arm and hurries towards a new rack of clothes. “How about this?” she says in excitement as she spins around to face me.
In her hands, she holds a gorgeous, deep scarlet chiffon dress, reaching the knees. The skirt fans out with two panels in the front colored midnight blue with white polka dots. The tight bodice gathers at the waist with six buttons, three on each side. The deep V-neckline has another midnight blue panel with white polka dots stitched behind it, keeping the entire dress modest.
“You like?” Elodie asks.
“I love it!” I exclaim.
“Here.” She hands me the dress. “Try it on.”
I excitedly snatch it out of her hands, run into the changing room, and rip the curtain closed. I shed my clothes and, with care, remove the delicate fabric from the hanger. Before I slip it over my head, I caress the soft fabric between my fingertips. I’ve never owned something so exquisite
before. It glides over my body with ease as if tailored specifically for me.
I step outside to show Alice.
“How do I look?” I ask, twirling around and letting the skirt fan out.
“You look so beautiful.” Alice clasps her cheeks. “Can I borrow it?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever take this off,” I giggle.
“It looks exceptional on you,” Elodie says, holding an armful of clothes. “However, you can’t wear that one, only. Here, try these on.”
She places the array of clothing in another changing room. Yet, I can’t stop preening in front of the mirror, mesmerized by my new attire.
“Eva,” Alice calls my attention. “Those shoes will never match that dress.”
I cease twirling and tuck my hair behind my ears as I stare down at my dirty sneakers and chuckle. “What’s wrong with my shoes?” I ask.
“Here.” Elodie hands me a pair of scarlet open-toed shoes with a strap that fastens around the ankle. “Put these on. They’ll complete your look. Each of the dresses has shoes to match.”
I slip into the shoes and admire them in the mirror. She’s right; they look sensational. Even better, the heel is only an inch high to maintain my stability.
Unlike Alice, I resemble a baby giraffe if I attempt to walk in anything higher.
Alice sighs. “I’m so jealous.”
“Here,” Elodie hands Alice a light blue silk dress. “Angelo doesn’t need to know he bought you new clothes too, right?”
Alice squeals with excitement as she dashes into a changing room.
When she emerges, I gasp at the beauty of her simple, straight dress that draws in at the waist and is held up with spaghetti straps.
“Can I have shoes to match?” she inquires.
She didn’t have to ask since Elodie stands ready with a pair of silver strappy flats dangling from her finger.
Twisted City: (Twisted City Book 1) Page 7