Page 24 of Burn for the Devil
My phone?Crap. I’d left it on the counter on the far side of our work area and forgotten about it with all the extra activity. I darted for it quickly, leaving Matthew standing near the cash register. “It’s been a bit hectic here,” I threw him an apologetic look, slipping my phone into my pocket as I returned to the counter.
He bit his lip, tapping a couple fingers on the wooden surface of the counter, and lifted his eyes. “Have you had lunch yet?”
“I’ll be eating here,” I replied. Something flickered across his eyes, as if they reflected the light streaming through the windows.
“That’s a shame,” he said.
I shifted my legs. “I’ll see you this weekend?” The opera was coming up fast, and I still had to get my dress.
“I look forward to it. Enjoy your day, Samantha.” He was easily a foot taller than anyone currently in my shop. I watched him stroll away, hands in his dress slack’s pockets. The fabric of his suit jacket looked both soft and warm, the distinct cut of an expensively tailored suit setting him apart from the patrons browsing.
Toni leaned against the counter, and I caught Marshall giving Matthew a quick, knowing perusal as if he recognized the man. I’d have to ask him what he knew later.
“Oh man, I thought he was gonna have to duck through the door. I was gonna bet you twenty bucks, but I was distracted and missed the chance. I would’ve lost,” Toni said, jokingly.
Laughing, I said, “Go for it. Tell him you’re free for lunch.” It was obvious she was attracted to him while I was still undecided whether I’d pursue him or not.
“You have a date with him,” she pointed out. I shrugged.
It might’ve been a good idea to agree to lunch with the man, but the opera was the perfect set up for me to get a feel for him. There wouldn’t be much room for conversation, and I could feel him out, watch him, and get a sense of the man without the distraction of contrived words designed to present one in their best light. I didn’t want my thoughts cluttered.
Marshall returned to the front counter, standing behind another customer. He had several candles in hand. The woman in front of him pulled a piece of plastic out of her tiny wrist wallet. She was purchasing one of the demonology books, I noticed, pleased our new items were selling.
“I have to leave to go pick out a dress with my mother in a moment,” I said to Toni. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” The store felt too busy for me to run errands, although I knew my two employees were more than capable of handling my absence.
“We’ll be fine. Go spend some of your money for once.” “Toni called after me, “And chose whatyoulike. You’re too nice, don’t worry about us.”
Twenty minutes later, I was walking into a boutique with my mom. She was dressed in a smart pantsuit and holding a cute Chanel clutch. She’d begun paying more attention to her wardrobe choices, probably because of my father’s aspirations. The woman proceeded to waste no time in criticizing my clothes.
“We need to get you to my assistant; she has such a great eye,” my mother said, as a man walked up to greet us. Dutifully, I followed the salesman, trailing along behind my mom. The man noted our preferences in styles, colors, and fabrics before striding away.
“My clothes are fine, Mom, don’t worry about me.” I kept my voice low, and she gave me a little smile. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly.
We sat on cushioned benches while we waited, and I gazed at the displayed gowns and swatches of color. There was no time to custom order anything despite the allure of the beautiful materials. “That shade of blue would be gorgeous with your eyes,” my mother exclaimed, standing up. I watched as she stood in front of a length of silk. “Where is that man? We need to get you a dress with this fabric.”
“There’s no time, but yes that is pretty.” My eyes were one feature that I really liked about myself, the shade being an unusually vivid color.
The man came back, and the sample of material was forgotten as he assisted me with finding a dress for the opera. My mother, of course, fussed over me during the process, until her phone tore her away. I listened to her altered voice while Henry—the shop’s assistant, adjusted my neckline. Mom was slightly nervous with whoever she was speaking to, piquing my curiosity.
“This is lovely on you miss, you’re a vision,” Henry was saying. “We don’t need many adjustments.”
I murmured, “thank you,” and looked at my reflection in the mirror. The hem trailed a bit on the floor when I stepped down from the dais, but heels would solve that problem. Moving closer to the mirror, I pictured the necklace from Blackbeard’s around my neck. It would glow beautifully against the ebony silk I was wreathed in. It would be perfect.
My mom stepped alongside me, and I met her disapproving eyes. “This isn’t the best choice of color for a first date.”
Shoulders slumping, I said, “It's the opera, Mom, it will be fine.” She smoothed my hair back from my neckline with adelicate brush of her fingers, giving me an enigmatic tilt of her lips. I wasn’t going to back down; I loved this dress.
“What impression does it give?” she asked, softly.
I winced. “Mom, it's the opera. Lots of people will be in black; you know this.”
She tugged at the waist of the dress, as if she was going to be the one taking in the seams. “You should be standing out. You’re my beautiful daughter.”
My shoulders slumped. “Thanks, Mom, but I’m still getting this dress.” I punctuated my statement by kissing her cheek.
Several minutes later, we wrapped up our appointment and finalized all the details. My dress would be ready on time, but barely. We exited, my mother complaining about “poor service,” and were greeted by a long black car idling at the curb. She gave me a sly look as the chauffeur opened the rear door and Timothy climbed out.
My stomach fell and my hand dropped from my mom’s arm. What was she up to? What was my ex-fiancé up to? Timothy grinned at us; hand outstretched. He kissed the air beside my mother’s cheek before gently clasping my shoulder and repeating the action.