by Nikki Groom
I turn to leave and take Denham’s hand. Both of us go to speak, but neither of us knows what to say, so we leave the hospital and walk for a while, swinging our joined hands and letting the air clear, letting our thoughts become more rational before either of us speaks.
Denham breaks the silence. “I’m sorry he wasn’t there,” he says unconvincingly.
“No, you’re not,” I say with a smile.
“No, you’re right … kind of.” He smiles back at me. “I didn’t want you to see him, but I knew you wanted to, so I’m sorry you didn’t get what you wanted.”
“I just wanted to straighten things out. Explain everything to him.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Denham says protectively.
“I think I owe him an explanation. I’m not who he thought I was. No matter what he’s done, I should at least explain that to him. I’m also worried that he’s in some kind of trouble.”
“Well, he’s a big boy, so he can deal with it himself.”
“Hey, stop that,” I scold. “Stop acting like a child who doesn’t want to give up his toys.”
“You’re not a toy,” he grumbles. “And I most certainly will not give you up.”
“You’re being cute again.”
“I’m going to ban you from saying that word.”
“You’re sweet.” I stop on the sidewalk and wrap myself around him.
He strokes my hair. “Try again ...”
“Funny?”
“Hmmm …”
“Sexy?”
“Now you’re getting there.” He chuckles. He kisses the top of my head, then rests his cheek there. “Arianna, if you need to find him then we will, but you must promise me that you’re not going to try to do it alone.”
“Okay,” I mumble into his chest.
He strokes my hair then rests his hand gently on the back of my head. His chest rises and he releases a deep breath. “Would you like to start today over? From now?”
“Yes, I really would.”
“Good because I have somewhere I’d like to take you.”
We walk in companionable silence, hand in hand, fingers entwined, taking in the warmth of the morning sun. We stop at a boutique, and Denham looks down at me with a smile and a wink before we walk through the large, highly polished, glass doors.
A tall, elegant lady looks up from behind the main desk and a smile graces her perfectly painted features. Her long chestnut hair is tied up in a smooth ponytail that swishes from side to side as she walks toward us. Dressed in an immaculate, midnight-blue pantsuit, she exudes class. I feel extremely underdressed in jeans and a tank, and I’m cursing Denham in my head for letting me come here so unprepared. Hell, I don’t even have a scrap of makeup on.
“Well, hello there. If it isn’t my favorite King.” She laughs “Denham, it’s wonderful to see you.” She greets him with a warm kiss on both cheeks and I’m immediately jealous. It’s irrational and unjustified, but I can’t help it. I don’t want him to be her favorite anything. I’m hoping and praying that these two don’t have a history together because I’m not sure my emotions are under control enough to filter what comes from my mouth.
She turns to me with the same genuinely happy expression on her face. “And this must be the lovely lady you were telling me about.”
Denham squeezes my hand and looks at me with what I can only describe as pride, and I feel the tension in my shoulders soften. “Beth, this is Arianna. Arianna, this is a very good friend of mine, and the person you can thank for my sense of style, Beth.”
“Arianna ...” Beth clasps her surprisingly warm hands on either side of my cheeks and kisses me as she did Denham. I’m a little taken aback at her openness, but I don’t find it offensive. Instead, it’s warming and I find myself liking her already. “Look at that magnificent bone structure. Girl, have you ever done modeling?”
“I … uh, no, I haven’t ma’am,” I stutter.
“Oh please, no formalities. It’s Beth,” she corrects.
“Okay, Beth.”
“You are every photographer’s dream. Maybe a little shy, but we’ll work on that.”
Denham laughs. “Give the girl a chance, Beth. We’ve only been in the door two minutes and you’re making plans already.”
“You know me, Den, no point wasting time. Always on the lookout for new faces,” she says frankly.
“Well, Arianna is very interested in the fashion industry. I thought you’d be the best person to come and see.”
“Oh! This is?” Denham nods. “The one who?” Denham nods again in answer to her bizarre question.
“Oh, dear lord. Why didn’t you say? Come with me, Arianna. We have things to discuss.” Beth takes my spare hand and I look between her and Denham, catching a wink that he throws her way before letting my hand drop reluctantly. “Cancel any plans you had together. I want your Arianna for at least a few hours. Go on … I’ll call you when we’re done.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand, and just like that, Denham is affectionately dismissed.
He steps forward and kisses my cheek. “I guess I’ll be back later when you’re done … whatever it is that you girls are doing.”
I smile, not knowing what to say. My head is still reeling from the way Beth called me ‘his Arianna’.
Beth wastes no time, marching me to the back of the shop. I try and take in the rails and shelves of designer clothes around me, but her stiletto covered feet are moving too fast and I’m trying to keep up. We go through a mirrored door and into what I can only guess is her stock room, filled to the brim with designer clothing. She grabs a dress off one of the rails and holds it up—floor length and cut on the bias with a plunging neckline adorned with tiny crystals that sparkle when the light hits them. It’s beautiful. I reach out and touch the silk, running my finger along the delicate stitching on the neckline. Any woman who wears this dress will feel like a million dollars, I’m certain of it.
“You like?” Beth asks confidently, already knowing that I will.
“I love it, Beth, it really is a quality piece.” It probably has a quality price tag too.
“Yes, it’s a one off. I know the designer and managed to secure it.” She hangs it carefully back on the rail before pulling out another dress to show me.
“Okay, tell me honestly, what do you think of this?” She holds out the next dress—blue, green and yellow in an explosion of patterns and swirls. It’s illegally short and one of the most disgusting dresses I’ve ever seen, but how do I tell her that when I’ve known her for approximately five minutes. She owns a high class, designer boutique on the Las Vegas Strip and she’s asking me what I think.
“Your face says it all darling. Be brutal …”
“I …”
“Just say the words that were going through your head when you pulled those faces not ten seconds ago.”
I decide to be as tactful as I can. “I think … the colors are a little too much for me. The patterns are garish, and I’m sorry Beth, but I just don’t understand why a respectable woman would wear something that barely covers her ass.” Oh shit. I hadn’t meant that to come out. She said be honest, and it was actually easier than I thought it would be, but now I’m standing here watching her flat expression, and not really knowing what to say or do next.
Beth suddenly dissolves into hysterics, holding onto my shoulder for support as she roars with laughter. It’s contagious and I laugh with her. Before long we’re both holding our stomachs and wiping tears from our cheeks.
“You’re hired,” Beth says as she calms her giggles.
“What?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Arianna. Would you like a job?” she offers more seriously.
“You’re offering me a job?” I ask in disbelief. She nods. “Yes, I’d love a job!” I have no idea what job she is offering me. For all I know, it’s the job of errand girl or coffee maker, but I don’t care. I know I would love to work here.
“Good, I need a buyer, someone with class and style,
but most importantly I need someone who isn’t going to blow smoke up my ass. If you don’t like the clothes, I want you to tell me. Got it?”
“A buyer?” Now, I’m nervous. I know what I like, and I have a pretty good understanding of the fashion world, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to make decisions like that.
“Denham said you would do this.”
“Pardon me?” I question.
“He said you would, and I quote, ‘Talk to yourself in your head’. What are you worried about?”
“I’m not sure I’m experienced enough to be given such a responsibility.”
“He said you’d do that too ...”
“Do what?” I question, slightly irritated at having to guess what she’s talking about.
“Put yourself down.”
“I—”
“Listen to me, Arianna. I won’t feed you any bullshit if you give me the same respect in return. Speak to me. I want your input. From here on in, you need to believe in yourself and trust your instincts, understand?” I nod. “Good girl.”
“Did Denham tell you to give me a job?” I query. As much as I think it would be a sweet gesture, I want to make my way on my own. I want to do it myself.
“There you go again, doubting your ability. He most certainly did not tell me to do anything. I would never hire anyone on his say-so, or anyone else’s for that matter. If you work here, you’ve earned it on merit alone. My instincts haven’t let me down yet and they’re telling me that you and I will get along just fine.”
She doesn’t look like the kind of person who would take an uncalculated risk. She takes no prisoners and makes no apologies for it, but I feel at ease with her. She’s similar to Denham—no pretense and no ulterior motive. What you see is what you get. It’s far easier to be yourself when you know you don’t need to change to please someone. If I had trusted my instincts up until now, I never would have married Aaron and I would have left Jonny long before things got really bad.
“But he did tell you about me?” I know I shouldn’t pry, but I can’t help it.
“Yes, we’re good friends. Denham has been there for me through some tough times. When he told me about this beautiful young woman he met, I just had to meet you. So tell me ...” Her voice softens as she brings her perfectly manicured hand up to touch my bruised cheek with her index finger. “Is he sorting this out?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good. Denham King isn’t your average asshole, Arianna. He’s one of the good guys. Let yourself go, just a little bit. You’ll soon learn that he’ll always be there to catch you.” She smiles kindly and removes her hand. “Now, what do you say to coffee?” It breaks the intensity and I am so grateful. “And then it’s time for the fun part. We need to get you dressed for your new role.”
“I’d love that,” I answer with genuine enthusiasm.
After five hours at the boutique, I’m on my way back to The Kingdom, laden with bags. I have a problem accepting gifts; every gift I’ve ever received in the past has been tainted with guilt and used as a method of persuasion, or given as a gesture of apology. But Beth has told me that the bags are not full of gifts, and to consider it a uniform of sorts. Needless to say, I don’t think Beth has any other motive than to employ me and make me work my ass off. She has convinced me that I need to look good if I’m going to be working with her. Everything is starting to come together, like little pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
With the exception of a small corner of my heart that won’t let me forget the past.
That black thought drains any positivity I’ve gained throughout the day. How am I going to deal with this and move on? I can’t keep going back and forth in my mind. The directional changes have me feeling dizzy. I’ve grown to be a pro at detaching from reality, but if I retreat back into my own head it will be the end to all the new starts I’ve made. I want to feel the passion and desire I’ve recently discovered.
I want to feel.
“Wait up!” A voice snaps me out of my daydream and I turn to find Lottie bouncing toward me. When she reaches me, she bends and puts her hands on her knees, panting for breath. “Are you deaf or something, woman? I’ve been calling you for a couple blocks!”
“Sorry. Looks like someone needs to hit the gym. Unfit, much?”
“Don’t you start. Spike is always nagging me about keeping fit. Whose side are you on?” she retorts sharply, now with her hands on her hips.
“Hey, merely making a statement.”
Her face turns curious. “What’cha got there? Had a little retail therapy?” She tries to peek in one of the bags. “Arianna Fraser, are you a bloody millionaire and just haven’t told me yet, or did Denham give you his AMEX? Because there is no way your average person could afford to even look in the direction of the Chique Boutique on the Strip, let alone shop there. Yet here you are with no less than…” she pauses while she counts, “...FIVE bags, full to the top! Spill it …”
A grin spreads across my face. “I have a job!” I say excitedly.
“Doing what? Are you the new CEO of a multibillion dollar company?” she quips.
“No, silly. At Chique. I’m their new assistant buyer.”
“You’re fucking kidding me! Ari, that’s awesome!” She launches herself at me in true Lottie fashion, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck so I can hardly breathe. I’m pretty sure that if she could wrap her legs around me like a baby chimp she would.
“You know what this means? It means you’re sticking around! And how much discount do you get to give your closest, bestest friend?” Her grin stretches the whole width of her face and her eyes are wide like a child’s at Christmas. “Let’s go celebrate!” Lottie chirps. “We need champagne, lots of it!”
“Whoa there, just a minute. I’m not rich, so let’s not go spending my money before I’ve earned it.”
“Arianna, I love you, but stop being so fucking sensible. Live a little. You have a millionaire boyfriend who will gladly fill us up with champagne because he will quite possibly be more happy about you staying than I am.”
“He is not my boyfriend.”
“No? Well, what is he then because I sure as hell know that he’s something. I’ve never seen him so rapt. And you, missy, your eyes are starting to show that twinkling light again.”
Nothing gets past her beady eyes. She’s ruthless but also intuitive and can see exactly what’s going on.
“So, what is it? Boyfriend? More?” she asks impatiently.
“I don’t know, Lottie,” I snap. I don’t mean to bite the words out, but I’m not used to all this dating business. How many dates before you’re a couple? Is he my boyfriend? Just a friend? “I don’t have an answer for you … hell, I don’t even have an answer for myself,” I mumble.
“Ari, stop negating everything. Positive things do happen, and you have to learn to let them.” She rubs her hand up and down my arm and I nod in acknowledgement to her words. Easier said than done. I know she’s right. I want to look ahead, but I’m afraid of disappointment if I look too far.
“You need a damn good night out, girl. The three D’s.” She winks.
“Drinks, Dancing and Denham.” She waggles her brows “and I’m thinking in that order. Just so you know … I’ll only be doing the drinking and dancing with you. You can do Denham on your own.” She smirks, pointing a finger at me.
“Lottie!” I say, shocked at her directness, but I know I shouldn’t be. Her comment even makes me blush.
“What? And why are your cheeks flushed? Have you? Did you do it already?” she blurts.
“No!” I squeal. I turn and start to walk back toward the hotel. Sex has not really been something I’m comfortable doing, let alone talking about.
Lottie is hot on my heels and fishing for information. “Come on Ari, give me some info. I know you haven’t slept on your own for the last two nights. Did you guys even kiss yet?”
“How do you know that?”
“Duh, my boyfriend is Denham’s brot
her. When he couldn’t get hold of him at his place, he asked why. It’s nothing more sinister than that. So you cleverly avoided my question. Did you kiss yet?”
I sigh—inwardly and audibly. I want to tell her everything.
How he kissed me and ruined me for anyone else.
How his nearly naked body has been wrapped around me for the last few nights.
How my body went into overdrive when he pressed my hand to his crotch.
How I want him so damn badly that my whole damn body hums whenever I think about him.
“Girl, that faraway look tells me you need to get laid.”
“Lottie, not everything is about sex, you know.”
She links her arm in mine and giggles. “No, but it makes for a damn good time along the way. Come on, I’ll call Spike and tell him we’re going out tonight. In the meantime, we’re going to charge a bottle of champagne to your room, raid those shopping bags of yours, and get ready to go out and party with our men.”
“WILL YOU LET ME SEE NOW?” I moan.
“Nearly finished. Be patient,” Lottie chastises me like a child. She has insisted on ‘dressing me up’, and she’s making me nervous with the amount of time she’s taking. I know she has great taste, but I’m hoping that after the amount of time she’s spent on my hair, makeup and nails, that I don’t look like a two-bit hooker on a Saturday night.
“Just a little gloss, here ...” she slicks the brush across my lips. It smells of berries and I immediately want to lick it off. “Don’t!” she snaps as my tongue touches my lips. “Do not undo my good work. Now … go look,” she says proudly, bouncing on the balls of her feet as I stand and walk to the full length mirror at the bottom of the bed.
I don’t recognize the image looking back at me.
She has curled my hair into loose ringlets, then twisted and pinned each side up. My makeup is barely there but accentuates all my good features and hides the ugliness of my bruise. My eyes look huge framed with long mascara coated lashes and a hint of sparkle in the eye shadow.
