by Sara Mack
Draped over his finger is a delicate silver butterfly that sparkles in the light of my room. A thin, yet equally shiny, chain extends from the tip of each wing to form a loop. “It goes around your ankle,” he explains. “I figured you could wear it and no one would know.”
I slowly take it from him and stare at my palm. “Why did it remind you of me?”
“Because you’re the same,” he says. “When we first met you were wrapped in this protective shell. It took some time, but you broke free. And now look at you.” He gives me a tiny smile. “All transformed and stretching your wings.”
I stare at him in awe as tears jump behind my eyes. The thought he put behind this gift takes my breath away.
He looks at me, unsure. “Do you like it?”
Words escape me. Instead of speaking, I wrap my free hand around his neck and pull his mouth to mine. I try to convey how I feel through my kiss. I think it works. When we part, I manage to say, “I love it. I absolutely love it.”
He grins. “Here,” he takes the bracelet from me and places it back in the box, “open the next one.”
I remove the paper from the next package and reveal a collector’s edition of the game Clue.
“No way!” I exclaim and turn over the box, which is actually a metal tin. “The pieces look like real people!”
“And the weapons aren’t plastic,” he laughs.
“How did you know I love this game?”
“We played it in the Caribbean,” he says. “I was Colonel Mustard and you were Miss Scarlet.”
“We are so playing this after dinner,” I say excitedly. “Thank you so much!”
“You’re very welcome,” he says and leans in to kiss me again.
“Guys!” my mother shouts up the stairs. “Dinner’s ready!”
We laugh as we stop what we’re doing. I stand and set my gift on the bed. “Let’s go.” I extend my hand.
“Wait,” he says and stands with me. “One more thing.”
“There’s more?” I say in disbelief.
He reaches for his wallet, opens it, and produces a hot pink gift card. “I know how you feel about these, but I couldn’t resist.” He smirks and presents it to me.
It’s from Victoria’s Secret, and I immediately blush. I open the holder and see it’s for an ungodly amount. “$500?!” I say in shock. “Why?”
“Trust me,” he says. “I’ve seen the state of your underwear. You probably need more money than that.”
I sock him in the arm. “This is too much. Take it back.”
“No, it’s not. Have you seen how much things cost there?”
“That’s precisely why I own nothing from this store.”
He wraps his arms around my waist. “You deserve it,” he says. “Plus, it serves a double purpose.”
“What’s that?”
“Did you get me a gift?”
I look away, ashamed. “No. I’m sorry; I didn’t know we were doing the gift thing.”
“Then repay me one day,” he says and kisses my forehead.
“How so?”
He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Let me see what you buy. Deal?”
When he focuses on my face again, I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.”
His eyes light up. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Chapter 15
The dress I bought for New Year’s Eve hangs over my closet door. As I stare at it I’m seriously second guessing my choice. What was I thinking? Black and lace are so not me!
Shel talked me into this one instead of the simple strapless I’d found. She did have a good point; I don’t have the chest to pull off a strapless gown. She, on the other hand, will have no problem filling out hers.
“Emma! Get in here!”
I leave my bedroom and meet her in the bathroom where she’s laid out a plethora of cosmetics. We’ve just returned from having our hair done which was a lot of fun. I wish I could hire someone to wash my hair all the time because it felt so good. Mainly it just felt great to spend time with Shel. Just us. No guys. No Guardian stuff. No lies.
She puts her arm around my shoulder and turns us to look at ourselves in the mirror. “We are going to rock this party tonight.”
I smile back at our reflections. “You will. I’m going to look silly from the neck down.”
“Um, I don’t think so,” she says. “That dress fits you like a glove. Besides, you need to show off all your hard work.”
She thinks my newly toned body is due to my faux self-defense class. It’s true my muscles are more defined and I’m not complaining. I can feel confident wearing a swimsuit while tossing some Allegiant.
She leans toward the mirror and inspects her hair. “You’re sure you like this?”
“I love it,” I repeat for the thousandth time. Her brown hair is swept completely off her neck and is tucked-in on itself in a loose contemporary twist. A few straight pieces of the shorter layers hang outside and frame her face.
“Your hair is getting really long,” she says as she leans back and touches a piece of mine at the bottom. “It’s nearly half way down your back.”
“Yeah, it’s a Larv…” I stop myself. I almost said it’s a Larvatus thing. “It’s been growing like crazy.” It’s also changing color. The auburn highlights that have always been there are taking over.
“I’m glad you decided to wear it down,” she says. “It’s pretty.”
I didn’t want to copy Shel and have my hair up, so half of it is pulled back and knotted at the crown of my head. The rest falls down my back in soft waves.
“Well,” she picks up her phone and consults the time, “let’s get to this, shall we?”
It’s a good thing we started early. Two hours later we’re still at it.
“Ow!” I complain as Shel pokes me in the eye. Again. “Are the fake lashes really necessary?”
“I bought them so we’re wearing them,” she says with determination.
“But they won’t stick,” I say. “I’d rather go without then have a dead caterpillar hanging off my face!”
“Fine,” she huffs and tosses the lashes on the counter. “You’re right. I give up.”
“Finally,” I grumble. I turn toward the mirror and peel off the other semi-stuck lash. Shel does the same to hers. I grab the eyeliner to fix what I messed up and then hand it off to Shel who does the same. I reach for the mascara and lay it on as thick as I dare without it getting goopy. Those makeup ads sure do lie. It’s hard to keep it from clumping.
“There.” I finish and look at her. “For never wearing makeup I think I did a darn good job.”
She smiles at me. “You should wear it more often.”
I grimace. “It takes too long. I’ll save it for special occasions like this.” I pluck a tube of lip gloss and a powder compact off the counter to put in my purse. “I’m going to get dressed.”
“Be there in a sec,” she says.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I put the makeup in my evening bag and pull my dress from its hanger. At least I’ll be comfortable. It’s made of a jersey material so it’s soft and it moves. I lay it on the bed, undress, and then slide it on, pulling the one strap over my shoulder. There. That’s it.
I walk to my closet to stand in front of the long mirror that hangs on the door and adjust the bodice. It gathers to the left at a sheer lace panel that wraps slightly around my side, but covers most of my back. The dress falls to the floor with a thigh high slit up the front which is very risqué for me. I turn and make sure the back of my shoulder strap isn’t twisted and admire the lace panel that mirrors the one at my side. This one travels along the back of the dress from my knee to the floor.
Facing front again, I’m instantly grateful that all of my Caribbean tan hasn’t disappeared. It’s offset nicely against the black fabric and through the lace. I inhale and exhale. Dane requested tight and this dress hugs me to my hips. I don’t think it will disappoint. I do, however, think I look like I’m trying to be someth
ing I’m not. Which is sexy.
When Shel enters the room I’m carefully buckling my strappy heels. They’re open toed and I’m glad I had time to use my pedicure from Christmas. She moves past me and removes her dress from the garment bag she brought with her. After she pulls it on she asks me to help zip her up.
“Matt is going to bust something when he sees you in this,” I say.
She grins. “I hope so.”
Her dress is floor length too, with a small train. It’s strapless and fits the top of her like a corset. The sheer overlay is encrusted with wavy lines of navy beading that trail to one side, and a nude underlay gives the appearance that she’s wearing nothing beneath it. She shimmers.
As Shel pops diamond studs in her ears I grab our masks. Mine is gold with black swirls and made of tin; the eyes are outlined in gold glitter. At the top right corner a large flower blooms, also made of flexible steel, with tall leaves and black and gold petals. Shel’s mask covers more of her face, coming down a little lower on her cheeks. It’s ivory with a blue design and tall navy feathers that sprout from the forehead. Sprinkled in amongst the plumes are little blue flowers. She found both our accessories online.
I help put on her mask and then she helps me with mine. We find our bags and I start to head downstairs. The guys should be here in fifteen minutes.
“Wait,” Shel says and pulls out her phone. “I want a picture.”
We lean in close and she snaps one. We take a few more with funny faces and I ask her to send them to me. I turn to head out the door again.
“Em,” she says. “Why are you still wearing that?” She focuses on my wrist. “It doesn’t match your dress at all.”
I glance at my bracelet. She’s right. The brown leather and silver amulet look out of place with my black and gold ensemble. But I can’t take it off. What do I tell her? I decide to lie.
“It’s from Dane, remember? I never take it off.”
She frowns. “Does he have a thing for bracelets?” She looks at my ankle.
I shrug and look down, too. The one around my ankle is so dainty it’s barely noticeable. “I don’t know. C’mon.” I walk out the door, hoping she’ll drop the subject.
When we make it downstairs my parents are watching television. My mom’s jaw drops to the floor when she sees us. “You two look gorgeous!” she exclaims. “What happened to my baby girls?”
We laugh.
“I need a picture,” she says and springs from her seat to get her camera. While she’s gone, my dad rises from his recliner to give us each a peck on the cheek. “You look lovely,” he tells us. “Just be sure your dates tell you the same. If not, you let me know.”
I smile at him and squeeze his arm.
After we pose ridiculously for my mom – apparently we think we’re in some kind of fashion magazine – Matt arrives to collect Shel. I was right; his eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees her.
“Are you responsible for that dress?” he asks me as Shel finds her wrap.
“A little.” I did influence her decision toward the blue instead of a red satin number.
“Thank. You.” He enunciates each word.
“You’re welcome.” I smile.
He leans over my shoulder. “Dane is going to freak when he lays eyes on you.”
“Thanks.” I press my hands to my stomach. “I feel a little out of my element.”
“Don’t,” he says and looks at my dress. “You own that.”
I reach out and smooth his jacket sleeve. “You clean up pretty nice yourself, kid.”
He needlessly straightens his bow tie and we laugh.
After Shel and Matt, leave I visit the restroom to fiddle with my hair. As I wait for Dane, I recall our conversation about tonight. I told him I could ride with our friends, but he wouldn’t have it.
“I’m picking you up,” he insisted. “I refuse to share you with them the entire night.”
As I’m primping, I hear him arrive and exchange pleasantries with my parents. I pause and laugh at myself. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘primp’ before.
Exiting the bathroom, I find the three of them standing in the kitchen. They don’t realize I’m there so I clear my throat to get their attention. When Dane turns around and finds me, his expression is indescribable. He blinks and his mouth opens and closes without making a sound. Does he like what he sees? Is he shocked or confused? Was he expecting more or less?
His eyes slowly sweep over me from head to toe and back again. It’s when they focus on my face that I know it’s just enough.
He steps forward and offers his hand with a lopsided smile. “You look amazing.”
I place my hand in his and say, “You, too,” and mean it. While Matt looked put together and dapper in his tux you could tell it was a rental and that he felt a little uncomfortable. Not Dane. I’m probably biased, but he looks as if he was made to dress this way. His tuxedo appears specifically tailored for him and everything from his hair to the way he’s shaved today screams, ‘I’m totally confident and used to this.’
“Where’s your mask?” I ask.
“In the car. It’s a little tough to drive in; plus, I look like an idiot.”
“I doubt that,” I say.
He helps me into an evening coat I borrowed from Kate, and we say our goodbyes. When we get to the car, he holds the door for me as I climb inside. I have to rearrange myself because my dress pulls to one side as I slide in. I bend my knees and scoot back in the seat which exposes my entire left leg due to the slit in my dress. I try to pull the pieces together to cover it, which doesn’t work. There’s a reason I don’t do this very often.
When I’m as settled as I can be, he sprints around the car and takes his seat. He leans over to shut the door and ends up dropping his keys by my feet. Automatically, I reach down to grab them, and his hand flies out to stop me.
“I’ve got it.”
He bends over and snags his key ring with one finger, but I feel the others at my ankle. Slowly his hand glides up my leg as he leans back, tracing my calf to my knee and then traveling up my thigh to the top of the slit in my dress. His touch leaves a trail of electricity behind it.
“Ahem.” I raise my eyebrows. “We haven’t even left the driveway.”
“Do me a favor,” he says. “Don’t read my thoughts tonight.”
“Why?”
He smiles. “Because I’ve seen you throw a right hook.”
When we step over the threshold to his parents place I’m in awe. Their home is nowhere near as big as Madeline and Ash’s mini castle, but it’s still huge. Attendants take our coats in the foyer, and we are immediately approached by waiters carrying trays of champagne. Off to the right is an arched doorway, and, when I peer inside, I see several guests milling around a large sitting room with white furniture and an expansive fireplace. Christmas lights and garland drip off every surface and a massive tree sits in one corner; it must be twenty feet tall. A Baby Grand resides opposite the tree where a pianist plays a seasonal melody.
“Is that your living room?” I ask.
“Formal sitting room,” he says like everyone has one. “Growing up I hung out in the den.”
He places his hand against the small of my back and ushers me farther into his childhood home, saying hello to several guests. I recognize Katie, one of the girls I worked with this summer, and even spot Leslie and my manager Kris. Everyone is decked out in their finest attire, and I’m glad I blend in. I keep an eye out for Matt and Shel, but don’t see them.
Dane leads me to a set of double doors that are thrown wide and steps inside. Tables upon tables of food line the perimeter of the room. On the center most table sits an ice sculpture of a sleigh and its seat is overflowing with shrimp. Chefs in white hats stand behind several stations frying, sautéing, and otherwise setting things on fire. People are gathered in small groups laughing, sampling, and flagging down wait staff that, I assume, are taking drink orders.
“Dining room?”
I ask.
“The formal one, yes.” He smiles. “I wanted you to know where the food was.” He sets his hand against my belly, and I smack it away. I know I eat a lot, but damn! I’m not a vacuum!
He grabs my hand and pulls me around the rest of the first floor. After a brief stop at the den, which resembles a normal living room and is off limits to guests for the night, we pass through the kitchen which is doubling as a bar. French doors are thrown wide, exposing the backyard, where a large white tent has been resurrected to cover the heated patio. Beneath the tent is the dance floor for the evening; it’s white and surrounded by round tables decorated for the New Year. Horns and confetti grace the center of each, and multicolored metallic streamers radiate from the center of the outdoor room at a mirror ball. They drape across the ceiling to the sides of the tent where they fall and puddle on the ground. A DJ plays from the far end of the dance floor and several people are already taking advantage of the music.
I turn to Dane. “Don’t I get to see upstairs?”
“Maybe,” he says and winds his hands around my waist. “If you’re good.”
“Son,” a deep voice sounds to our left.
I turn to see an older man approach us, dressed in what appears to be a smoking jacket and holding a snifter glass. He’s not wearing a mask and, when I focus on his face, I know what Dane will look like when he’s older. Despite the gray at his temples and the laugh lines around his eyes he’s the spitting image of his son.
“Dad.” Dane extends his hand toward his father. Who shakes their parent’s hand?
Mr. Walker takes it and pumps it twice. He has kind eyes, and they make me think that he’d rather give his son a hug.
When he regards me he asks, “Who is this radiant lady?”
Dane clears his throat. “This is Emma. Emma, Charles Walker.”
He reaches for my hand and I give it to him. He simply squeezes my fingers and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You worked for me at the course this summer, yes?”
I nod. “In the concession area.”
“I remember your name. I also seem to remember you taking a swim in my waterfall.”
