Walking along the main street, there was a beautiful furniture shop that had old pieces of furniture that had been refinished and distressed; there was literally everything in it. I met the owner and designer, Hannah, who was in her mid-50s, and her daughter Josie, who was a year or so younger than me, and I explained to them what I was doing.
After a cup of coffee and exchanging numbers with Josie, I had a source of my favorite style of furniture, one that I fully intended to stock up on for my own home first, and they had offered to work to order—anything I needed, they would create. It might have sounded a given that people would do this for you, but it was so rare in this day and age and normally cost a fortune.
I stopped in at a fabric shop to look at what they had available and met Mildred—or Old Lady Mildred, as she informed me she was known as and insisted that I call her—and I got some samples to use before I went to the final store on my list: Scarlett Treasures. From the outside, you could see towers of lingerie and some clothes through the glass door, but the glass panels that took up the walls on either side were covered loosely with thick burgundy panels that had a border around two inches thick of white satin. It wasn’t a design that would have come into my head immediately, but as I stood looking at the sheerness of the panels and the thick satin with the light shining through it, I realized that it really was quite sexy and suited the name of the shop perfectly.
I opened the door and walked onto the properly finished oak beams—no bare wood in this shop—and was hit with the subtle fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood; it was beautiful.
“Oh my God, it smells like heaven in here,” I groaned, not seeing anyone around the place.
“Do you like it?” a soft voice sounded from beside me, scaring the shit out of me and making me squeal and jump. I turned to see a girl around the same age and slightly shorter than me who had the most gorgeous long auburn hair, big dark green eyes, and a beautiful face—she really was stunning. “God, I’m sorry. I thought you heard me on this flooring, but I just remembered I took my shoes off to wrestle with the fixtures that the new stock is going on. I’m Scarlett Hughes!” she said, holding her hand out to me.
“Sorry, I was in a world of my own, it’s totally my fault. I’m Maya Price. I just came to see what you had because I’m a complete underwear junkie. Seriously, I can’t make it a week without a trip to Victoria’s Secret, and trust me, after all of my purchases, there are no secrets left between Victoria and me.” I laughed, but in all actuality what I was saying was totally true; it didn’t matter where I was—if there was a lingerie department, I was in there.
Thankfully, Scarlett let out a soft laugh but nodded her head in sympathy. “I get ya, honey! I actually design all of the stuff in here, but up until a year ago I was making it all to order by hand, and trying out designs on myself. It was a relief when I found an investor and set up shop, I tell ya. Doesn’t mean that I don’t keep one of each to try out, though; it would be rude to sell stuff without knowing what it felt like on, ya know?” she said with a wink and a slight head tilt.
I want to say that I could see her with Cole, but to be honest, Cole and an underwear designer…that would be his heaven. She was too nice and soft for Cole, though; he’d eat her up and spit her straight back out again, so why would I do that to her?
“Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for, sweetie?”
“No, I just wanted to come in and have a look. Do you mind if I take a wander?” I asked, having a look around, seeing she had a mixture of everything available. The main product was lingerie, but towards the back there was a swimsuit and bikini display with cover-ups. Interspersed throughout the lingerie displays were evening and day dresses, nightwear, and flirty skirts. The checkout counter was at the back of the store, and behind and under it was silver jewelry; it was literally my heaven.
“Sure thing, make yourself at home. Have a look, and if there’s anything you need, then shout,” Scarlett said, giving a little wave of her hand and wandering back to her displays. I wanted to be her. She was so cool.
I looked through the corsets, demi-corsets, bras of all kinds and colors and fabrics…there was literally everything. I picked up a coral-pink demi-corset, the matching balcony bra, thong, and Brazilian panties, a white lace set, matching satin and lace short nighties for both, and then I saw the bikini to beat all bikinis hanging up at the back. It was my favorite shade of coral pink, and I knew that I was going to walk out of here with it even though I had more than enough bikinis at home after living in Florida for so many years.
I shouted to Scarlett that I was going to the changing room and walked in. I knew my bra and underwear sizes, but I figured I needed to try on the demi-corset just in case, and holy shit! At 5-foot-7, I was a size 6, with padding in my ass and mucho padding in my boobs that made me a D cup. The demi-corset gave them extra oomph and made me feel a bit like Jessica Rabbit, because they just looked round, and big—that was the only way I could describe them. Normally I’d have put it back, but Ren’s handsome face popped into my head and I figured there was no harm in making a purchase. If worse came to worst, they’d stay in my drawer, waiting for a special occasion.
Decision made, I turned and looked at the bikini. The shade of coral was just perfect, and the string in between the cups had lovely, wide silver filigree beads on it that offset the color perfectly. It was essentially a string bikini, but the added details like the beads and a little bit of silver thread delicately added into the strings, and the tops of the cups just got me. The bottom was the standard two triangles of material with a tie on either side, but there was one of the long silver filigree beads attached to the very front, and the same silver thread ran through the edging; it was gorgeous. I tried it on and stood gaping at myself in the mirror. I hated bikinis that didn’t have padding in them, so your nipples pointed the way to all inquirers and passersby. This one had subtle padding and lifted them slightly to create a delicate cleavage, not a ‘stick your head in here, and I’ll smother you to death’ type cleavage. Well, there was no walking away from it; it was definitely coming home with me.
Getting dressed again, I took my purchases out to Scarlett and made a point of not looking any further around the store. I needed to limit my lingerie spending because I already had three drawers full of the stuff. It all got worn, but still. Unfortunately, that then left me with the silver in the glass display cases. I’d had my belly button pierced when I was eighteen, and now I saw the most beautiful flower belly bar and one with the Hand of Fatima on it. I had a couple of large silver and terracotta Hand of Fatimas that I’d bought when we’d visited Turkey last year, and I loved them and what they stood for. Dammit, I’d been so close to getting out of the store without another purchase, too.
“Find whatcha need, sweetie?” Scarlett asked, walking around me to the register and tucking her hair behind her ear. It was longer than I’d realized and almost hit her ass in layers. God, how did she make it look so soft and shiny?
“Uh, yeah,” I coughed, “and then some. Could I see the Hand of Fatima and the flower belly bars, please, Scarlett?” I squatted down and pointed to them because there were so damn many in the case.
“Sure. They have matching earrings, ya know?”
“Shit!” I muttered more harshly than I’d intended, and Scarlett looked at me in surprise. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just a glutton when it comes to jewelry…and underwear…and bikinis.” I swept my hand towards my purchases in a quick ‘look at the evidence’ type of swipe.
“You don’t need to buy them right now if you don’t want to, honey, they can wait for another day. If there’s anything that you want to be held back, just say and I’ll put it away until you come back for it,” she said, placing the belly bars and the matching earrings in front of me.
The flower bar had one flower that would sit at the top of the piercing, and at the bottom there were three that were melded together in a U shape. They were small and delicate, and if you looked really closely, there was a ti
ny sparkly diamond in the middle of each one. The earrings were the same, three small flowers attached to each other that would lie across your earlobe with a tiny central sparkle. I loved them.
The Hand of Fatima sat at the bottom of the belly piercing, so it would be in the belly button, and there were a lot of squiggles and delicate designs in it, including a small lotus flower, from which came more delicate squiggles. It was also divine, and the earrings were the perfect match.
“I’ll take them all,” I decided after looking at the jewelry and putting them on top of my new underwear, nightwear, and bikini and looking back up at Scarlett with a big grin on my face.
“You sure? I can put them on hold if ya want. Honestly, it’s not a problem!” she said, looking a bit concerned.
“Scarlett, I’ll be in here again within a couple of days—this is my paradise. The only reason I swore was because I knew I wouldn’t be walking out of here without the jewelry once you said that. Now ring me up, buttercup!” Winking at her, I leaned back and put my hands on either side of my eyes so that nothing else in the store would get my attention and scream out for me to buy it. “Even better, my female family and friends are now set up for life, present-wise.”
Scarlett laughed at this and started wrapping everything individually. I was impressed that for a small town store she put so much extra time and effort into finishing off her brand. The tissue paper was a match to the panels in the windows, and she had small satin-looking stickers with an S wrapped around a T. In the bag went a scarlet-colored organza bag filled with little beads and wrapped with a thin white ribbon. I’m sure my eyes were huge when I whispered, “What’s that?” like a little kid looking at jars of candy.
“My own scented beads. I had them made by a friend who creates perfumes for people. Normally I sell them, but since you loved the smell so much when you came through the door, I’m gonna add a couple in your bags, if that’s okay?”
“Oh my God, are you serious? I would love that.” In my mind, I was thinking of my towels and my bedding, both of which I had a lot of, but then I thought about my tops and shorts and wraps… “Uh, do you have a lot of the beads?” I asked, knowing that she was going to need to stock up on them.
“Yeah, she just sent me five huge boxes of them, why?” She gestured towards some cardboard boxes that were just visible through the door behind her, and an idea popped into my head—this could be a signature for my designs, and it would be fantastic publicity for Scarlett. I needed to look into this and speak to my uncle, because this could be huge.
“I’m an interior designer, and I’m working on some contracts that I think your beads would work perfectly with, and that would also be great publicity for you. Have you got a card with your contact details on it so that I can give you a shout once I sort through all of the finer details and discuss it with my uncle?” I’d already fished one of my own cards out of my purse and was holding it out towards her. She leaned over and picked up a kickass glossy burgundy business card and took mine as she passed it to me. “In the meantime, though, could I buy twenty of those smelly bags, please?” That should cover it, for now.
After paying and asking her more questions about her designs and the jewelry in her store, I left with a smile on my face and the subtle smell of jasmine and sandalwood surrounding me. Just as I rounded the corner to walk towards my car, I walked into someone and was enveloped in a cloud that stank of cheap, sickly-sweet perfume that clogged in my throat so much that I could practically taste it. Quickly looking up, I came face to face with what I was pretty certain were a pair of fake breasts that stuck out of a transparent V-necked t-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too small for the wearer. When I got past the plastic bunnies, I recognized the owner as the girl from the Diner who had been watching Ren and I. I’d clocked her as we’d walked in, and then when his face had changed and I’d turned around and seen his expression pointing in her direction. I had a sinking feeling that they had a past or a present. She was attractive, but it seemed to be that fake sort of beauty that came from hours of pampering, makeup application, hair obsession, and, if my previous guess was correct, involved a surgeon’s help. Her lips were also slightly overinflated for her face; guess it was a two-for-one deal to match the boobs. Be nice, Maya. Her nose looked like it had also had some work done. A friend of mine worked for a plastic surgeon in Florida, and he had pointed out to me the telltale signs of someone having had some ‘plastic interaction,’ as he called it.
Coming out of my plastic surgery musings, it registered that she wasn’t moving like she would have been if it had been an accidental bump. Then I saw the sneer on her face aimed at me.
“I saw you with Ren in the Diner, and like, you need to know that we’ve been together for ages.” She added in a hair flick here, which resulted in her fake extensions—I could spot them a mile away too—swiping across my face before she continued. “And anyway, you’re not his type. He doesn’t go for fat Plain Janes.”
Although she’d effectively driven a knife through my heart, I couldn’t help chuckling at the way she spoke. It was nasal, and she emphasized words like “I saw yoouuuuu…in the dineerrrrr…with Ren? And like, you need to knowwwww…” Basically, the type of bimbo chatter that you and your friends laughed your asses off over whenever you heard it because they were phrasing parts of it as questions and drawing out words, and really, they just sounded dumb.
Obviously, she mistook my chuckle as not believing what she said, as her eyes narrowed and a look of pure evil crossed her face. Her features scrunched up and she pointed her in-need-of-a-fill-in talon in my face. “Look, bitch, Ren and I have been together since school. Yeah, I let him have his fun, but he always comes back. You ain’t anything special; most of the girls here have been banged by him, but it’s”—stab in my chest—“always”—stab—“me”—stab—“that he comes back to. Right, Tiff and Bianca?”
Or ‘Biancaaaaa,’ as it came out sounding from her.
I was done with this conversation. Yeah, I’d been scared after the kiss, but even knowing vaguely about his past, seeing that his type was obviously this plastic vapid bitch in front of me pissed me off.
Not wanting her to see that she’d scored, I pulled myself up to my full height, rolled my eyes, and said in the most bored tone I could muster, “Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re on about. It was business, that’s it. He’s friends with my cousins, so he took me out to see the town and then for lunch while we discussed business. Trust me—you’re safe!”
Not waiting for a response, I pushed past her and walked towards Hulk.
Chapter Eight
Maya
H ow I drove back without crashing or hitting someone, I don’t know. I parked and carried in my packages, slamming the door shut with my foot harder than I should have, but it fit my mood perfectly. I knew I shouldn’t let her get to me, but dammit, she had.
What she’d said had hit right on one of my insecurities after finding out the extent of Andy’s infidelity and finding out who he’d cheated with. They were all Playboy bunny lookalikes who were tall and thin and must have spent hours every day doing their makeup and hair. I only put the bare minimum on unless I had to use a heavier makeup for something, and I usually left my hair to fall where it wanted to, as it was naturally easy to manage. I could never compete with that, and after the time I’d spent with Ren and the kiss—God, I wished that I could.
I threw my packages on my bed and stomped back down the stairs to continue working on ideas for the asshole’s house. Right now I wanted to fill it with junked furniture with rats and fleas in it. My future here rested on getting this done perfectly, though, so I couldn’t. Didn’t mean I couldn’t discreetly use his toothbrush to clean his toilet to perfection or let the neighborhood cats rub against his textiles, though. He probably had crabs and fleas anyway, so maybe I’d be doing him a favor?
After another five hours of searching, planning, and making up mood boards, I slowly stood from my seat. Time ha
d gotten away from me, and I’d been hunched over or sitting cross-legged for most of it while I planned, printed, cut, and stuck, and it hadn’t done me any favors after yesterday. My neck hurt to move, my shoulders weighed a ton, and my back pinched fiercely. Thankfully, I had the bathtub from heaven above me, so I trudged up the stairs stiffly and started running the taps. I could smell the jasmine and sandalwood coming from the bags from Scarlett’s, and decided to use my sandalwood bath salts that my friend Tony had sent me last week.
Tony was great—he worked for a well-known plastic surgeon in Miami, and was so camp he made the guys in Priscilla Queen of the Desert look like alpha heroes, and I loved him. With my best friend Amy, working almost five hours away, and my sister Lucy studying seven hours away, he had been my closest friend in Miami and had held my hand through everything. You know those moments when you don’t think anything will ever make you smile again? He could cure you without any effort. He was outrageous, over-the-top, loyal, loving, and one of the most amazing people I’d ever met, and I loved him dearly. I hadn’t spoken to him since Monday, though, so I made a mental note to call him tomorrow.
Just as I settled into my bath, my phone started ringing. I knew it was Luke from the ringtone, so I let it be and lay back. Thirty seconds later, it started up again. I knew it wouldn’t be Adam, because I had no doubts that Uncle George had spoken with him about what I’d said earlier, so he’d still be sulking, so I left the phone to ring out again. It continued for the next twenty minutes—Luke’s ringtone, then my standard ringtone, and then Adam’s joined it, so I picked it up because it was ruining my relaxation, and begrudgingly I’ll admit I was starting to worry that there’d been an emergency.
“Hey, Adam,” I answered, but I made myself sound cheery since I’d pulled a ‘rat bastard’ move on him, as he would call it.
“What the fuck, My? Where the hell are you?” He barked down the phone. I guess he was still in a snit with me.
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