“It’s my job. I work for your brother, and he has tasked me with your security. We’ll consider this an extension of those orders.”
“I can pay you.”
His whisper coarsened.“Never.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Dieter held her hand around the edge of the shower curtain. “You did the right thing, coming to me. I’m glad that these last few months, we’ve been able to talk so that you did come to me. I will always protect you,Durchlauchtig.Anything, always.”
They sat like that, holding hands around the edge of the shower curtain, until Dieter said, “Please get out of the shower. I can’t watch the water hitting your face like that.”
Flicka tried to stumble to her feet, but she slipped. The silk of her dress made a horrible rubbing sound on the porcelain. “I can’t stand up. The zipper stuck, and I can’t get this thing off.”
Without letting go of her hand, Dieter stretched toward the bathroom vanity. “If you don’t care about the dress—”
“I don’t.”
“—I can cut it off of you.”
“Just don’t look at me.”
“Turn over a little. Lean toward the back of the tub.”
Flicka held onto the long bar down the side of the tub and rolled away from him.
The soggy fabric pulled against her, and cool steel touched the back of her neck. The dress loosened around her chest and waist as the fabric ripped away from the knife.
“There,” Dieter said, his voice husky. “You should be able to push it off.”
Flicka shoved and rolled the dress down her torso and kicked it off her legs.
The thin, wet fabric thunked as if a brooch were pinned to the inside of a seam.
While she was down near her feet, she shut off the water.
When she turned back around, Dieter’s hand was peeking through the curtain, holding a towel. He said, “It’s warm, if you take it. I’ll wait outside.”
Flicka wrapped it around herself and stepped out of the shower.
A long, white bathrobe was draped over the towel warmer.
She dried herself, shrugged on the robe, and managed to unsnarl the Laurel Tiara from her hair.
She searched the dress and found a small piece of jewelry pinned to a seam on the inside. The delicate spun gold and tiny diamonds surrounded what looked like a yellow and black military ribbon, studded with a gold wreath and mountaineering tools. She ripped the silk getting the pin out and held it in her palm, sticking into her wet flesh.
In the mirror, a lunatic with matted, wet hair and dripping clown makeup stared back at Flicka. Bruises ringed her throat. The skin on her upper arms was sore like she would be marked there, too.
Her knees wobbled, but she took a washrag and wiped the mascara and eyeliner off her cheeks and scrubbed the melting contour and foundation from her skin. Most of it came off. She ran her fingers through her hair, untangling it as best she could, yanking the knots. Blond strands caught under her fingernails and between her fingers.
Now her skin looked raw, almost blood-streaked, like her eyes. Her green irises in the middle of her bloodshot eyes looked horrible.
If it had been anyone other than Dieter out there, she probably would have hidden in the bathroom.
Instead, she walked out to find Dieter sitting at the desk, loading bullets into the magazine of a gun.
He glanced at her but went back to what he was doing. “I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the bedroom.”
“Please don’t,” she said.
