I walk into my closet and remove my slip and put on a pale pink bra and matching panties. I stand, gazing into my closet, trying to think of something to wear. He stalks out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. He catches sight of me in my underwear and I attempt to cover myself, but he walks in brazenly.
His body is just…amazing. My insides clench at the sight of his naked torso. He has this triangular V-shape on his low abdomen. It looks edible. I just want to lick him there, and everywhere.
He strides up to me, eyes glowing, and kisses me on the lips. He squeezes my waist with both of his hands. When he releases me, I’m rendered breathless and speechless. He returns to my living room to dress, leaving me standing in my closet, completely dumbstruck.
As I turn back to my closet, I catch a glimpse of the idiotic grin on my face in the mirror. My eyes are all sparkly, cheeks rosy... Uh-oh. I shake my head.
Just one more night, and that’s it. I can do this, and then I can cut off all of this, this extra stuff happening between us. I grab a button down shirt with a Peter Pan collar and high waist jeans; throw on a pair of wedges and carefully avoid looking in the mirror again. That look of infatuation I was wearing frightens me.
Once Vincent has gone, I open up shop and start business as usual. I tend to my customers, and make a few last minute alterations for a couple of women who have obviously grown out of their “little black dresses,” in classic 1940’s fashion, though they refuse to admit it. I am coveting one in particular. It’s a dainty shirtwaist flared tea dress that is to die for. The two women are friends, and chat amiably while I make the quick mends.
I dash upstairs once they’re gone and grab my dress, the one I’ll wear tonight. I slip it on in my tiny dressing room downstairs, I just need to take it in a bit at the waist, I think I’ll wear a corset tonight too, really taper in my waist for a dramatic look. With my butt, this drop waist style isn’t all that flattering. A little tapering in at the sides will improve the look for me.
As I walk out of the dressing room to start on my alterations, Jordan walks in with a sorry look on his face. I put my dress down at my worktable and attempt to glare at him, but I break out in a smile.
He smiles back, “I’m sorry. There. I said it out loud this time.”
“You’re sort of forgiven. Just—stop being so bossy all of the time,” I sneer at him as I sit back down at my worktable. “And nosey,” I add.
“I know, I know. I may have over reacted. Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“Forgotten.” I smile up at him, and he smiles back, relieved.
“You seriously need a cell phone though.”
I make a disgusted face and keep on working.
“This is really pretty, who is it for?” he asks as he gently touches the material. It’s a gorgeous shade of plum, with delicate beading at the front, the pattern of the beading resembles a butterflies wings. It has thin straps, with a drop cap sleeve.
“For me, for tonight,” I reply curtly.
He tenses. I don’t want to elaborate, and I’m sure he’s guessed why I’m working on it. He lifts his hand as if the material has caught fire. I look up at him and roll my eyes.
“Can’t you be nice?”
He sighs deeply. “No. I’ve decided I don’t like sharing you.”
“Obviously,” I reply, dripping sarcasm.
“It’ll take some getting used to. Maybe one day I’ll consider being nice, but it won’t be any time soon.”
He’s not the only one who has to adjust. I could really use his support. I continue working, he leans down, kisses my head and leaves. I exhale deeply, I’m thankful that we’ve made up, but I sense it will be a while before I can talk to him about Vincent.
I decide to wear very skimpy lingerie along with my corset tonight. As soon as dinner is over I’m going to set the damn tone for the way things are going to go between Vincent and myself.
The day flies by in a flurry. I get a few custom pieces sold before I close up shop, but when the clock strikes 6 o’clock I dart upstairs to get ready and leave all of my shop business for tomorrow.
I find a long strand of costume pearls to go with my dress. They’re the color of champagne. I keep my makeup simple, my eyes lightly lined with brown powder, soft pink blush, and powder pink lips. I find a very delicate hair comb. It’s dainty and feminine. I roll and pin up my hair at the back, create some wave and texture in the front, I then place my hair comb into the right side of my hair. Perfect. My hair actually came out the way I envisioned it! I find a pair of plum colored elbow length gloves and put on my heels.
I trot downstairs and the familiar throaty sound of Vincent’s Mercedes invades my ears. I flick off all of the lights and give Bucky a goodnight kiss when he tries to follow me out.
I lock up, and make my way to Vincent’s car. He swiftly makes his way around the car to open my door. He stops and takes my hand in his, bows extravagantly and kisses my gloved hand before leading me in.
“You look...beautiful as always, Lenore.” His eyes drink me in and I heat under his steady gaze.
I curtsy shyly and step into the car.
He looks immaculate as always, I want to say to him, but my throat has gone dry. The way he looks at me sometimes...it’s as if he—adores me. I can’t wrap my head around it.
As we make our way onto the freeway, I realize how nervous I am. I haven’t eaten since breakfast; I was too wrapped up in making sure my dress fit perfectly for tonight. The combination of hunger and nerves makes me edgy and jittery.
Vincent is decked out in a gorgeous black tux, crisp white dress-shirt, his hair neatly groomed. He’s also freshly shaven. I fight the urge to reach out and touch his smooth cheek. He looks like James Bond; like a sexy secret agent or spy.
We drive in silence. His right hand clutches mine for most of the drive. His body tenses imperceptibly the closer we get. I can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. What does he have to be nervous about? I squeeze his hand in an attempt to offer him comfort. He turns to me and gives me a tight smile.
“So, how was the interview?” I ask.
He smiles, and a bit of tension evaporates from his face. “I think it went really well. I was there for nearly two hours. It felt more like a lunch date with friends than an interview. I’ll hear back from them in a few days.”
I beam a smile back at him. That sounds promising! Vincent, in Uptown! I wonder if he’ll move, get a house in the historic district. Slow down, girl.
We drive through dark and winding roads. I have no idea where we are once we exit the freeway. The houses coming into view are enormous! No, not houses, mansions. I’m seriously intimidated now. My stomach is in knots. We pull into a ridiculously long driveway and park in front of a gorgeous Spanish estate; it must have been built in the 1920’s—hence the theme for tonight’s dinner. It is spectacular! I don’t want to get out of the car. I’d like to admire it from here. This dinner is a mistake. I’m so thrown off balance. His family is wealthy? I don’t know how I feel about this. I know he said grandfather was a big businessman, but I was not prepared for this...this opulence!
Vincent makes his way around the car, opens my door and offers me his hand. With great trepidation, I put my hand into his. I stand and we both gaze at one another; I can feel the fear rolling between us. He is the first to crack a smile and I let out a deep breath and giggle.
“I wish we had that joint right now,” he whispers and we both laugh loudly despite our nerves. I wish we did too. And for a moment, I feel a brief respite from my worries.
“Come on, let’s get this over with,” he murmurs.
We walk up the impressive steps, lined with decorative Spanish tiles. The house looks to be three stories high, and is painted a stark white. The trimming is a beautiful shade of sage blue. There is a lot of very beautiful wooden detail—and the landscaping; it rivals that of a royal palace. There is so much to look at. I’d really like to come back during the day, and explore. But—if th
ings go as planned, I won’t get the opportunity to.
When we get to the door, Vincent points to the right. “There’s the horse stable, back there. Have you ever ridden a horse?”
I shake my head, no. I’ve always wanted to, of course. My mother used to tell me stories of her life in the countryside of Cuba. She loved horses.
“Maybe I’ll teach you to ride sometime,” he says quietly. For some reason he is practically whispering. His eyes sadden. I’m sure he’s remembering what I said yesterday morning at his house. I feel a pang of disappointment.
The door flies open and the most gorgeous brunette I’ve ever seen stands just beyond the frame, arms outstretched, waiting for a hug from Vincent.
Vincent scoffs, rolls his eyes and steps into her waiting arms. She squeezes him and covers him in kisses, his face in her hands. He doesn’t release my hand even though I try to wriggle it free. If anything he clutches me tighter.
“Let me look at you. You get more handsome each time I see you,” she says lovingly. Her eyes flick toward me, I try desperately to reign in my quivering nerves.
Who is she? She is wearing a black sparkling floor length dress. A lovely contrast to her sun kissed skin. She’s beautiful. She appears to be in her mid-forty’s, I think. It’s hard to tell, she has a lot of makeup on, and she may have possibly had work done. She has large, dark green eyes. They sparkle beautifully as they catch the light. They are full of mystery and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
A feeling of unease surrounds her. Her eyes dart back to Vincent, and her lips tighten. Vincent eventually peels away from her.
“Mom, this is Lenore.” He squeezes my hand and pulls me forward.
Mom?!
I thought sister or cousin, maybe aunt! But—mom? Her eyes are still searching his face; she has yet to truly acknowledge my presence. He coughs discretely to get his mother to snap out of her reverie. I take another step forward, the light from inside the house shines onto me like a spot light, or at least that’s how it feels. I feel like I’m on display. I blink in an effort to adjust my eyes.
Vincent angles his head toward me, and we lock eyes, he looks bewitched by me. His eyes never leave mine. The look on his face as he gazes at me, instantly boosts my confidence. I tear my eyes away from him and greet his beautiful mother with a confident smile. She hasn’t smiled yet. She’s appraising me. I can tell right away, she doesn’t want to share Vincent, the same way Jordan doesn’t want to share me. Pure possessiveness.
Once Vincent turns back to face his mother, she forces a smile. Faking friendliness, she takes my hand and pulls me inside. My nerves are on high alert.
“Hello, Lenore. How nice to meet you.” She closes the door behind us. She takes both my hands in hers, “Let me look at you.”
And she does, she really looks at me, she is sizing me up and disguising it with smile. She is truly very beautiful, but I can sense darkness in her. I pull my hands out of hers, and turn back toward Vincent, beseeching him with my eyes. He is oblivious to the fact that his mother has decided she doesn’t like me. Just like that. After one minute.
“Okay, mom,” he mutters and pulls me into him. I wrap my arm around his waist tightly. I hope he’s reading my mind, like he magically does, because I am trying to telepathically tell him he is not to leave my side tonight. He grips me in silent understanding.
A man, who I presume is his father, steps into the grand foyer. His eyes crinkle with delight. He is dressed similarly to Vincent. He’s handsome, tall and slender, more slender than Vincent, though I’m sure at one point he probably had the same muscular build his son does. He has soft brown hair, sprinkled with grey at the temples. He smiles warmly at me as soon as he sees us.
Perfect teeth. I see where Vincent gets his lovely smile. His parents are like walking mannequins. They’re scary good-looking.
“Hello! You must be the most beautiful woman in the world!” His voice is smooth and deep, not unlike his son. I blush, as he looks me up and down.
“Dad, this is Lenore O’Howell,” Vincent mutters heavily. His smile is tight and I watch him swallow anxiously. “Lenore, my father, Edmond.”
As his father leans in to kiss my cheek, I catch a whiff of strong liquor. He lingers a minute, and his wife pulls his arm back.
“Oh, leave her alone,” she says, trying to sound playful, but it’s a warning.
This is complicated, I realize.
Their eyes move in unison to something behind me. I turn around, and descending a spectacular spiral staircase, encased in shining brown wood and more decorative Spanish tiles, is a small white haired woman. Vincent and his father’s eyes instantly soften. This must be the grandmother.
Vincent’s mother, Elizabeth, has a scowl on her face, a look of disgust even, as she turns and walks away from the scene. I make a mental note of it.
“Happy birthday, Nana,” Vincent says taking the steps two at a time, he offers his grandmother his arm and she takes it. She smiles a loving smile at him. This is one of those photo-worthy moments. The grand staircase with the stain glass windows behind them, dressed in their formal dinner-wear, it’s a sight to behold.
She moves quickly for a woman of 80, and they’re down the staircase in mere moments. He kisses his grandmothers cheeks, as does his father, and soon she extends her hand to me. I take it, and I’m drawn to her instantly. She has a powerful demeanor, one that commands respect, yet there is warmth to her she cannot disguise. Our eyes lock. She has the same gorgeous cerulean blue eyes Vincent has.
“So this is Lenore.” Her voice is deep, and still has a youthful sound to it, despite her age. I smile. Has Vincent told her about me? When?
“Yes, Nana,” Vincent mumbles quietly. What has this cheeky devil told his grandmother about me? I give him a sideways glance. He has a proud look on his face. She holds my hand and her eyes smile warmly. Her dress is a deep crimson, and rather risqué I think, for a woman of 80. Though, she does look a good 10 years younger than that. It’s a lovely gown, with lots of detail, and a drop waist. It’s classic 1920’s glamour. Her jewelry—wow! There is so much sparkle coming from her diamonds I need sunglasses.
“Come with me, Lenore. Let’s leave these boys guessing. I’m Viola by the way.”
She takes me by the arm and pulls me to a room just off the side of the foyer. I glance nervously back at Vincent. He winks at me and is pulled away by his father.
We enter what I think is a sitting room. It is dimly lit, with extravagant chandeliers; a mirrored wall makes the room appear larger than it is, with lovely tufted furniture that looks as old as the house. A time capsule perfectly preserved.
There is a small mahogany bar against the mirrored wall on the right. I take a seat as she pours us a glass of...I don’t know, something. She hands it to me. It smells like sweet perfume. She takes her seat across from me.
“Sip it slowly, honey.”
It’s strong, but goes down smooth, like honey. I like it. She winks, knowingly.
“This will get you through the night,” she says lifting the glass to her withered lips.
“Thank you, I imagine it will.” I take another tiny sip. I haven’t eaten, and I want to make it through the night. It warms my insides instantly.
“So, Lenore. Tell me about yourself.”
I think for a moment. For some reason I’m compelled to tell her the truth about myself, she just has that kind of power. I look down at my glass and then back up to meet her eyes.
“What do you want to know?”
“Would you say you’re trustworthy?”
Strange question, I’m momentarily thrown. I’m fairly certain that she has formed her decision on that already, but I reply anyway.
“I’d like to think so. Yes. I keep to myself, mostly.”
“Vincent, I’m sure you’ve gathered, is a special boy—man, I should say,” she corrects herself. My ears perk up at the mention of Vincent’s name.
“He’s a man of many talents, but he
can be naive, oblivious at times. So, be careful with him, gentle—with him.” Her eyes plead with me. “Speak plainly, tell him how you feel when you feel it. Don’t play games with him. He’s treasured in this family.” She arches a brow at me, a playful threat not to hurt her boy. Though I’m not sure I understand exactly what she means.
Oblivious? Naive? Doesn’t sound like Vincent, but then again I don’t know him very well. I don’t know him at all, really. A nervous tingle spreads up my spine. This is too much. Why is she even telling me this?
I clear my throat. “Yes, I can see that. He’s very lucky.” I look down at my drink, take another sip to collect myself, and set the glass down in front of me. I can already feel the head change.
“I respect him very much Viola, and I always speak plainly.” I look her dead in the eye, and a mutual understanding passes between us. She slaps the arm of her chair.
“Good! Then you and I will get along just fine.” She stands and I follow suit. She turns back, catching my arm with her tiny wrinkled hand. “And…watch out for Elizabeth.”
I blink at her, what does she mean? I don’t ask, I allow her to clutch my arm and I stagger after her.
We abandon our drinks, and walk arm in arm into the dining room where every one is standing around making polite conversation. Vincent’s mother, Elizabeth, is draped all over him. Viola and I exchange a look that speaks volumes, and I know she is thinking the same thing I am. Elizabeth is very clearly going to be a problem.
I’m introduced to a few other elderly couples, friends of Viola, and a couple of neighbors who have joined the celebration as well. It appears as though most of Viola’s guests have gone along with the theme and are dressed to the nines. My eyes drink in the lush fabrics, gorgeous beading and costume jewelry. Or at least I think it’s costume jewelry, considering where we are, everyone could be wearing real diamonds and gems. I glance down at my modest gown. It’s rather simple compared to what they’re wearing.
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