Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 523(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
When the customer finally pays and leaves with her purchase, the redhead approaches us. Her nametag reads Sandy. Looking at me down her nose, she asks, “Can I help you?”
“Yes, Sandy.” I take a stack of cash from my wallet and slap it in her palm. “Lock the door. I want to do my shopping in private.”
She takes one look at the money before she turns from haughty to humble. Hurrying to the door, she flips the open sign to closed and turns the key.
“Are you looking for anything specific?” she asks, inconspicuously slipping the money into her pocket.
“A dress,” I say. “Formal.”
“Day or evening formal?” Sandy asks, looking at Violet for a clue.
Since Violet doesn’t utter a chirp, I say, “Daywear.”
“I have a great collection of smart-casual,” Sandy says. “Do you have a color in mind?”
I look at Violet. What is the color of betrayal? “Yellow.”
“Yellow?” Sandy wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think it will go well with her complexion.”
“Oh, it’ll go perfectly,” I say with a flat smile, holding Violet’s gaze. “Trust me.”
Violet flushes, no doubt catching my drift.
“Size?” Sandy asks, clacking her way over the floor to the clothes rail. “I’d say eight or ten at a glance.”
Violet gives in first, breaking our eye contact.
Sandy returns with a canary-yellow jumpsuit and a butter-yellow halter-neck dress. “What about these?”
I shake my head.
“It’ll help if I know what the occasion is,” Sandy says.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I wake up the screen. “Our wedding.”
Sandy coughs. “Your wedding?”
“That’s what I said.”
The shop assistant scrunches up her face. “If it’s for your wedding, maybe you should consider a more bridal color like a soft peach or rose.” She adds with a little sting in her words that’s obviously meant to call me out as an asshole, “Or white.”
Walking to the sofa placed in front of the changing area, I make myself comfortable like I’ve done countless times with countless women, yet this time is different. This time, I’m not uninvested or easygoing. This time, even as I call up my emails, I’m present in every second.
“It’ll be yellow,” I say. “If you want to make a sale, I suggest you hurry up and show us what you’ve got. I don’t have all day.”
Sandy’s cheeks turn red. She glares at me even as her professional smile stays intact. Turning to Violet, she says in a compassionate tone, “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find you something lovely.”
I catch Sandy’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “With the emphasis on speedy rather than lovely.”
Sandy’s nostrils flare, but she walks with a stiff back to the rail. The hangers click together as she flips through them and selects a handful of dresses.
“This way,” she says to Violet with a pitying smile, indicating the changing room.
Behind me, Violet gets to her feet obediently. I follow her progress in the mirror, watching her uneven gait as she walks with square shoulders to the curtained-off area.
“Here,” I say when Violet passes me.
Sandy turns, her arms bogged down with a mountain of yellow fabric. “Excuse me?”
“She can change here,” I say. “In front of me. That’s what I paid for.”
Sandy goes rigid. The color on Violet’s cheeks deepens from dark pink to furnace red, but neither woman says a word.
“Here, love,” Sandy says, hanging one of the dresses on a portable rail next to the sofa. “Why don’t you start with this one?” Shooting me a cutting look, she goes to the counter and presses a button that closes the blinds in front of the windows.
That’s very considerate of her, but Sandy doesn’t know Violet is a closet-exhibitionist. She likes it when I watch. Or maybe that’s the thing. Maybe she only likes it when I watch. I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body, but as I imagine other men ogling her naked curves, I decide here and now it’s better for both of us if her exhibitionist tendencies are limited to me. I’ve always been happy to indulge a woman’s fantasies. I pride myself on doing so. But if sharing is Violet’s fantasy, it’ll be my first exception, the one fantasy I’ll never deliver. She’s all mine, every deceiving, betraying inch of her.
I check my watch. “As I said, darling, I don’t have all day.”
A glimmer of hurt simmers in the depths of Violet’s expressive eyes before she hides it behind a veil of anger.
Why that bothers me, I have no idea. The road we’re about to walk is paved with deceit. I’m laying down the cornerstones, setting the foundation for our future by teaching her to conceal her feelings and hide them from me. It’s not what I would’ve chosen before yesterday, but it is what it is today.
Turning her back on me, Violet removes her sneakers. She struggles, almost losing her balance without a seat, but I don’t go forward to help her, which is a dick move considering her disability. That’s not what we’re about. We’re not about consideration.