The unexpected touch is so nice, I finally relax.
“What’s this?” He flicks the safety pin on my blouse.
“Lost a button.”
The shame hits and I hate it. It’s unfair when my inner critic insists I’m not good enough just because I don’t have the things other people do.
I have a roof over my head. My stomach’s full. I have a brother to care for, who cares about me.
Why am I close to tears over a missing button and a skirt that no longer fits?
“Tell you what. I’ll make an appointment with the department store, and they can outfit you properly.” His hand returns, brushing just under my eye, a clump of dry mascara on his thumb when he pulls away. “And give you a makeover.”
“Why are you doing this?” The question bursts out of me, and I hold my breath as I wait for him to answer. Not sure if he will. Half expecting him to kick me out of his fancy car and half thinking he’ll bring up the proposition from yesterday. “I haven’t changed my mind about… the thing you want.”
He shrugs. “I like you and I… well, I owe you an apology.” When I continue to stare, tension in every muscle, he adds, “I stuck a loaded weapon in your mouth two minutes after meeting you. It was so fuckingdangerous,and I can’t stand to think the slightest twitch could have…”
A noise emerges from the back of his throat, barely sounding human. He glances over to me, then immediately turns away, colour splotching across his neck, reaching towards his cheeks.
“You’re my age and you work at a club my dad goes to. Mydad. That’s so fucked up.” The steering wheel practically buckles under his hands, he’s gripping it that tightly. “You should be in school. You should spend your free time going to movies orwaiting in line to buy concert tickets or going to parties when some random kid’s parents are out of town. You got stuck with a shitty life and it’s not right and it barely costs me a thing to fix it, so why wouldn’t I?”
Why wouldn’t he?
I can’t tell if he’s for real. “You wouldn’t because people don’t do things like this.”
He flashes me a smile so broad he looks like a different person. “Well, today I do. Today I’m your fairy godfather and I’m waving my magic wand to turn you into a regular teenager.”
I return his grin but still see something else hiding behind his eyes. Some other truth he’s obscuring.
Before I can ask, he says softly, “This isn’t to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to. I respect your answer. One thing has nothing to do with the other, okay?”
This time, his sincerity shines through. Maybe there’s still a hidden agenda but I’m not in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Fine, then. You may continue to wave your magic wand.”
“Yeah?” He smiles while tapping a number into his mounted phone, giving instructions in a bored voice to the woman who answers with such perky cheer she must be mainlining coffee. She confirms an appointment fifteen minutes from now.
“If you take me there, won’t you miss your first classes?”
And the question makes him laugh again but not in a mean way, notatme. “Oh, the horror.” He clutches his hands together like he’s pleading. “No, please don’t make me miss a few hours of school.”
I wrinkle my nose at him, and he shakes his head, still smiling, checking the traffic before he pulls into the street.
An hour later,it’s like I’ve fallen into a fairytale. Instead of birds and mice and all the tiny creatures of the forest, I have three saleswomen waiting on me hand and foot, measuring and cutting and sewing to give me a uniform tailored to fit snugly to my every curve.
I thought Maddox would sit back, letting the assistants help me pick. Instead, he walked along the rungs of clothing, pulling hangers from the racks, holding one or two against me, the rest going straight in the yes pile.
His eye is amazing. Each item is correctly sized, needing adjustments only to better flatter my shape. There’s also more clothing than I’ll ever need for school.
While I’m being measured and the clothing pinned, he disappears for ten minutes, returning with boxes full of lingerie. A woman comes with him, patiently coaxing me into the selection of bras to ensure an accurate fit.
Some of the chosen pieces make me blush.
Others, I don’t even know how to wear.
After the fittings, he waits with me while the makeup artist runs through colour palettes, then steps away as she gets to work. He returns as she’s applying her finishing touches, looking very pleased with himself.
He rolls a chair close behind mine, opening a jewellery box to display a collar necklace. A thin band of soft black leather, decorated with silver wire, a black pearl pendant hanging from the centre.
