by Celia Loren
I grab hold of the edge and watch as he surfaces, spluttering. "Oldest trick in the book, Jack. You better up your game."
Chapter Four
I tap my foot on the marble floor as I wait for my mom in the foyer. What is taking her so long? She's the one who's making me get a dumb dress for the party and now she can't tear herself away from the caterers.
"Mom?" I call toward the kitchen impatiently, though who knows if she can even hear me from this distance. This big house is dumb. This party is dumb. Everything's dumb. I hear her shoes clicking on the floor, headed toward me. Finally, I walk toward the door, expecting her to be right behind me.
"Sorry, hon," she says. I turn back around and frown. She's not carrying her purse. "There's this issue with the dance floor…I don't think I'm going to be able to get away right now."
"So I don't have to go shopping?" I ask hopefully.
"No, you still need something to wear tonight. It's black tie. I knew I shouldn't have let you keep postponing it. Just go, and find something that looks—" she stops as she sees my expression. She knows I never have any idea about fashion. Jack leaps down the southern set of stairs, surprisingly nimble for his size, and breezes past us.
"Bye!" he says, opening the door.
"Where are you off to?" my mom asks. Jack stops, clearly surprised to have someone asking him this question.
"Gotta go pick up my tux," he explains.
"Oh! Where?" my mom asks.
"Um, Gucci…" he replies, looking puzzled.
"Perfect! Take Bree. She needs a dress for tonight," she instructs him.
"But—" he protests.
"You and your father always look like you stepped out of GQ so don't even tell me you don't know how to help. See you two later!" she replies firmly, and walks quickly back toward the kitchen.
"Let's go," I sigh, knowing the conversation is closed.
"She…she's…" Jack mutters as he shuts the front door behind us.
"She's run a restaurant for the last ten years by herself. She has a way of getting things done."
"She reminds me of my coach," he says, and I'm not sure by his tone if he means it as a good or bad thing. I clamber up into his Escalade as he eases himself in, his seat pushed way back from the wheel to accommodate his size.
"Nothing too frilly," I tell him as he begins around the circular drive.
"Frilly? It's Gucci," he replies like I've just said something incomprehensible.
"So?" I can see him trying not to smile. "What?"
"Sorry, it's just…I've never met a woman who cared less about what she looks like."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"
He laughs. "Yes, though I can hear how it sounded." He takes his eyes off the road to shoot me a quick glance. "I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you wearing something that wasn't stained. Except maybe your diner uniform."
"I've just never been very girly," I say with a shrug. "We could never really afford new clothes much, and everything would just get dirty or torn eventually anyway."
"Couldn't afford—so your dad really—"
"Yup, it's really all gone," I answer shortly.
"Sorry—that was insensitive of me." I steal a look at him out of the corner of my eye. That sounded sincere, like an actual bit of self-awareness. We ride the rest of the way to the mall and pull into the parking lot. I peer out at it. This is the fancy mall, the one I've never been to, though I think the popular kids used to hang out here.
"Do you always run your own errands? I thought people like you had assistants."
"People like me? Well, I used to, but I found out she was selling my underwear on EBay. Just haven't bothered to find someone else since then," he states matter-of-factly.
I stare at him, astonished "Clean or dirty?"
He guffaws. "That was my first question, too. And the answer was both, but dirty cost more."
"Wow." I lean back as Jack turns to reach behind his seat, then sits back and pulls a black baseball cap low over his eyes. I smile. "Does that really help anything? How tall are you?"
"Six foot five," he replies with a proud smirk. "But you never know. With this many people around, I don't want to cause too much of a scene. We'll never be able to leave." We hop out of the car, and as we walk through the parking lot he begins to speed up. By the time we reach the mall's glass doors he's walking so fast and his legs are so long that I'm struggling to keep up. He keeps his chin tucked to his chest, zooming forward like he knows exactly where to go. I see heads turning as we pass, but no one has time to process what they're seeing. Before I know it, he's pulling me through a sleek black storefront and letting the glass door shut behind us.
"Hey, man," he greets the Gucci associate behind the counter. "Is Lydia here?" he asks as he plops himself down in a velvet armchair with its back to the door, now completely relaxed. I blink, still getting used to our surroundings and the breakneck speed with which we reached them. I glance around. The lighting is soft and warm, gleaming from unseen bulbs hidden behind mirrored shelves.
"Is that Jack?" a well-heeled woman in her forties asks as she emerges from behind a black curtain. "Roberto's ready for you. He tells me your measurements have gotten even bigger."
"New trainer. And Lydia, this is Bree."
"Of course," Lydia replies with a knowing smile.
"No, she's not…she's my…" Jack tries to explain.
"His dad's girlfriend's daughter," I clarify. "How many girls have you brought here, exactly?" I ask him as he stands.
"Well, I couldn't give you an exact number," he says with a smile.
"Jack, you know where to go," Lydia says, nodding toward the black curtain.
"Have fun," he tells me teasingly as he disappears.
"So, Bree, what are you looking for today?" Lydia asks me, placing an arm around the small of my back as she sweeps me toward the back of the store. For the first time I can see kindness in her kohl-rimmed eyes, and feel myself relax.
"Black tie, my mom says."
"OK, wonderful," she says, glancing over me. "Would you mind if I just…" she gently places her hands around my hips, then pulls my baggy shirt back so she can see my waist. "You look like you'll wear a sample size, and then the only tailoring you would need is to take up the hem, which we can do quickly. Why don't I take you back to the dressing room, and I'll pick out some options to bring to you?"
I nod. I'm happy to have her choose. She brings me through the black curtain and into another cordoned-off section. The velvet drapes swing silently shut behind her as I stand awkwardly in the middle of the dressing room. I can just hear the hum of Jack's voice as the tailor and he discuss the fit of his tux.
I kick my old sneakers off into the corner and then pull my shirt off over my head and my pants down to the floor. I study myself in the three floor-to-ceiling mirrors across from me. The lighting is soft, at least. My fingers slide over the sports bra I'm wearing. Maybe not the best underwear for shopping for a gown. I jump as Lydia's face appears over my shoulder.
"Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you. What do you think of this?" she asks, placing a midnight blue dress over the hook on the wall.
"Um, it's beautiful," I murmur. And it really is.
"Satin, and all this beading is done by hand," she says, indicating the gold sunburst that extends from the waist along the halter neckline.
"It's sort of low-cut, though, huh?" I ask, picking at up to look at the back. There isn't one.
"Yes, but it's perfect for someone who's more petite like you," she assures me, turning her back. "You can't wear a bra with it."
"Ah," I say, taking the hint and pulling my bra off over my head. "Um, OK," I tell her, lamely covering my nipples with my hands.
"I've seen it all, and then some," she tells me with a smile as she picks the dress off the padded hanger and unzips it on the side. She bends down, and the satin pools on the pale carpet. I gingerly step inside the circle of fabric, and she pulls it up. I duck my head under
the halter strap and feel her fingers brush my sides as she zips it up. "Wait, don't look yet," she says with a grin, taking a pair of heels from the side of the dressing room and laying them on the floor in front of me. "These are just so you get an idea of the height," she explains. I nod, slipping them on. They're a little big and I can feel my heel wiggling in the back. "OK, turn around."
"Woah," I breathe as I glimpse the woman in the mirror. Me, I'm in the mirror. Lydia claps her hands together.
"This cut is just perfect on you, I knew it," she says, indicating the deep v in the front that cuts below my sternum, leaving just a hint of the sides of my breasts exposed. I turn so I can see the back, where the fabric mirrors the front, dipping into a corresponding shape below my ribcage.
"Do I look…does it look alright?" I ask worriedly.
"You look gorgeous," she purrs. "This is the one."
"Um, OK. Yeah, alright," I stammer. Any shopping trip where I don't have to try on more than one item of clothing is a success in my book.
"Let me just get some measurements," she says, pulling a tape measure out of her pocket. I run my fingers over the gold beading as she mutters to herself, pulling out the bottom of the dress, and then picking my foot up from the shoe and measuring that as well. "Let me help you out of it," she finally says, unzipping the side and pulling the halter over my head. "Roberto will do the hemming, and I'll find the shoes in the right size, and we'll deliver them to…are you living at the same address as Jack?"
"Yes, I forget the number, though," I murmur, hands over my exposed chest again.
"We have all of his information on file," she tells me, letting the drape close behind her as she leaves. I nod, though she's already gone.
I turn back toward the mirror, then let my hands drop. Normally I rush through my bathroom routine, barely looking at myself. But this lighting is very flattering…I turn from side to side, studying the small curve of my waist, and my high, small breasts. I lay my hand on my stomach and imagine it belongs to someone else…
"Lydia?"
I screech as Jack's face appears in the mirror, poking through the drapes behind me. "Jack! What the fuck!" I yell as his face registers shock and then quickly disappears.
"Sorry!" he calls out from the other side. I jump for my sports bra and yank it on. "I was just going to say that—"
"Forget it!" I call back furiously as I pull my clothes back on. I stuff my shoes back into my sneakers and push the drape aside, storming out past him. I can feel how red my face is.
He follows me out into the store, pausing only momentarily to pull his baseball cap back on. Now he's the one trailing me as I walk quickly back out through the mall and into the parking lot. I walk right up to the passenger side door of his car and wait for him to unlock it, my cheeks still burning.
"Will you just hang on a second?" he asks, cornering me against the locked door.
"Let's just pretend it never happened."
"OK. I am sorry," he says, turning away. He pauses for a moment. "Not that you have anything to be embarrassed about," he adds, then walks quickly toward the driver's side door.
I frown. What does that mean? Was that a compliment? Or was he just trying to make my feel better? I hear the doors unlock and leap inside, looking straight ahead. We ride back to the house in awkward silence.
Chapter Five
I stand outside on my balcony, feeling the wind whip my dress over my legs. It's a beautiful night for a party, and thankfully free of rain. I look down over the guests from my perch, invisible with my bedroom lights turned off behind me. No wonder the dance floor was giving my mother trouble earlier; she's had it set up over the pool. It's completely clear, and the pool's lights are on underneath it. Some of the guests are already walking across it, pursuing the white-jacketed cater waiters who carry champagne and trays of hors d'oeuvres.
I hear my cell phone ring and walk back into my bedroom to answer it. "Where are you?" my mother asks, the noise from the party behind her filtering through the line.
"In my bedroom. I'm coming down now," I promise.
"Will you stop in Ray's study? He took a call and disappeared."
"Yeah, OK," I tell her, and hear her hang up. I haven't been there since I set off the silent alarm. I brush a hand across my hair, pulled into a low bun on the nape of my neck, and head out of my room, shutting the door behind me. I smile shyly at a few of the guests who are gathered in the foyer as I walk down the staircase. My mom told me that I'm one of the hosts of the party, but I don't even feel like I really live here yet.
I head down the south wing to Ray's study. After my self-guided tour when we arrived, I know it's all the way at the end, giving him corner views of the front and side of the house. I pause as I hear voices from inside, and unconsciously begin to tiptoe across the marble floor so that my heels don't make too much noise.
"Nothing risked, nothing gained," I hear Ray say.
"These aren't the kind of people we're used to dealing with," says someone else. I hear a slight mechanical crackle and realize that the other person's on speaker phone.
"What about Russia?"
"They operate differently. It was just business, and a smaller piece of the pie."
"We're moving forward," Ray says definitively.
"Ray—"
"I have to go. Just get it done." Ray says finally, and I hear the other man sigh. Realizing their conversation is almost done, I step forward and knock on the door so that he doesn't think I've been listening. I hear a click as Ray picks up his receiver and sets it down.
"Yes?"
I push the door open a bit more and poke my head inside. "My mom asked me to come find you." He stands and checks his bowtie to make sure it's straight as he meets me at the door. He smiles as I push it open for him.
"You look beautiful, Bree. I thought Anne told me you weren't one for dressing up."
"I'm not, but she was quite insistent," I tell him as we walk back down the hall. "And Jack helped, actually," I add begrudgingly.
"I'm glad you two are getting along," he remarks just before the guests in the foyer greet him exuberantly. I slip by as he's surrounded and head for the backyard, my mission having been completed.
The huge backyard is now filled to the brim with guests, all the way from the French doors that lead to the patio down past the pool and to the dock. White lights wind from the bases to the leaves of the palm trees and a jazz quartet with a female vocalist is set up perpendicular to the rectangular pool. Everyone is in tuxes or gowns, but a few giant men stick out in particular. They must be teammates of Jack's. Like him, they're built on a bigger scale than most humans.
I spot Jack at the other end of the yard and feel my cheeks begin to burn. I can't even look at him now without thinking of the fact that he saw me almost completely naked. His head is slightly bowed, and I realize it's because he's in conversation with a gorgeous brunette. I squint at her. She actually looks somewhat familiar, though I can't place her.
"You don't want any of that, believe me," comes a deep voice at my side. I look over and up to see a tall and wide African-American man standing next to me. "As big a player as they come. Now me, I'm different."
"Oh, is that right?" I ask him with a smile, too amused by the mischievous twinkle in his eye to take him seriously.
"Sure is. I'm a one-woman man."
"One a night, I think you mean," I retort, and he tilts his head back with a cackle.
"Shaun, keep your distance," Jack says, appearing at his elbow.
"Don't worry man, she's doing just fine on her own."
"Bree, this is one of my best friends on the team, and Shaun, this is my dad's girlfriend's daughter," he says, fully turning toward me. "Bree is…" he trails off and swallows.
"What?" I ask, unnerved by his silence.
"Ah, not interested in football players," he finally says.
"Probably wise," Shaun concedes with a smile.
"Come on," Jack says reaching out his hand to me,
palm up. I place my hand in his instinctively, but then pull back as he begins to head for the dance floor.
"No way," I tell him. "I don't dance." He laughs in response, continuing his path toward the clear pool covering. With his hand still firmly around mine, I have no choice but to follow him to a clear spot near the center. He swings around in one fluid movement and wraps one arm around my waist, then takes my other hand in his and pulls it up to the side.
"This is a slow one," he says. "Just swaying." I blush as I look up at him, then let my eyes fall to my feet. It's not just the fact that he saw me naked earlier today, it's the feeling of his hand placed gently on my exposed back. My breath wants to speed up, and I do my best to fight against it, not wanting him to become aware of it, and not knowing what to make of it myself. "You going to be awkward around me forever?" he asks quietly. My eyes snap up to his. There's a soft expression in them, he's not making fun of me. "It probably won't surprise you to know that I've seen plenty of women naked."
"That's not the—"
"—Point. I know," he acknowledges. "You look beautiful tonight."
"Are you the same guy who threw me in the pool?" I ask, and he laughs. "I mean, thank you," I murmur, my gaze dropping again. I'm surprised to feel his fingers leave the small of my back and reappear under my chin, raising it so that I'm looking at him again. Our eyes lock, and after a moment he takes his hand away, wrapping it back around my waist.
"Who was that guy at the diner?" he asks, catching me completely off guard.
"Which one?" I ask obliquely.
"You know," he says with a smile. I study the gold flecks in his irises as I answer.
"Miles," I finally reply. "We went to high school together. Is it so obvious?"
He shrugs. "Are you two…"
"Oh, God, no," I reply with a snort.
"Why not?" he asks simply, as though such a thing were an easy feat.
"He's…we're not exactly on the same level," I answer.
"Huh," is all he says.
I clear my throat, feeling uneasy with the way he's examining my face. "Who was that woman you were talking to? Right before you came over to Shaun and me."
