Page 117 of Rather: The Therapist

A denim bucket bag.

Sunglasses.

A gold bracelet.

Gold earrings.

And, a pair of slippers.

I stacked the items from the box full of Chanel on the stairs with intentions of taking them upstairs when everything was unboxed. The next box was the heaviest. There wasn’t much left to the imagination. The large LV box inside of it could only mean one thing. An extra large LV luggage slid out with ease.

The last package had me stomped. I wasn’t sure of its components and the brand was unfamiliar. Nevertheless, I tore through the box to find two smaller ones stacked on top of each other.

The first one housed three red dresses, all beautiful as the next. The second one was full of the same dresses, but all in black. At the bottom of the large box was a note attached to the receipt. For a brand I didn’t recognize, I thought the total of the purchase was pure insanity, but I was grateful Priest understood the caliber of woman he was dealing with.

I imagine your voice is like silk on the line. Make me a believer, Rose.

555-230-9917.

It wasn’t until I read his words that I realized I’d never conversed with Priest in his absence. I heard his voice behind my sleeping mask when I laid down at night. I heard his voice in my dreams while I slept. I heard his voice in my ear when I drifted off into the world we’d created while wide awake. But, never had I heard his baritone on my line.

Diffidence pushed my cheeks toward the sky. I pulled my lip between my teeth and bit down until the pain I was causing registered with me. Roulette was the first on my mind, but the foolishness that would follow my genuine concern for things transpiring between Priest and I played in my head.

I quickly decided against calling her. It wasn’t her chastising I needed. It was something else.

Wine.

Château Lafite-Rothschild.

It was a guilty pleasure. The dryness was perfection. Chemistry had introduced us all to the red beauty and I’d never forgive him.

A bottle was the cost of the average rent in the States. Every time I opened a bottle, I donated to a local charity. However, I was in no position to do so, now. Traceable payments were prohibited.

I rushed into the kitchen and kneeled in front of the wine fridge. I removed the lone bottle and sat it atop the counter. It wasn’t long before the inside of the bottle kissed the air.

The smell of merlot and sauvignon tickled my nostrils. Eagerly, I grabbed a glass from the rack above the small fridge and filled it less than a quarter of the way.

Swirl.

Sniff.

Sip.

“Ummmm.”

The first sip was celestial. I had a second. Then, a third. It wasn’t long before I was pouring another glass.

“I’ll slow down this time,” I promised.

Priest’s request was heavily influencing my actions. I could consume the entire bottle and doubted I’d be ready to fulfill it.

A new form of communication had me doubting my ability to control my impulses. A new form of communication had me considering how much faster and how much deeper I’d fall for the man coated in dark skin and undeniable beauty.

I tiptoed across the floor, feet bare and tapping against the coolness. It wasn’t until I rested my body on the sofa in the living room that I regretted not grabbing a pair of socks from the full-sized coat closet.

Call him. The voice in my head demanded.

I hugged my cell in one hand and the stem of the wine glass in the other. I didn’t need to see the paper again. I remembered the number at first glance.

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