Page 131 of Dirty Husband
Not something I can consider at the moment. It's enough to plan this wedding.
"What do you want, Jasmine?" Mai takes both dresses and leads me and Quyen toward the dressing room. My aunts wave the attendant away.
Quyen comes into the stall with me. Though stall is selling it short. It's a huge space, the size of my old bedroom, with a three-panel mirror and half a dozen hooks.
"I will pick out a few more options," the saleswoman says. "And you have undergarments?"
"She doesn't need a fancy bra with this figure," Quyen says in Vietnamese.
Mai laughs and tells the salesgirl we're settled. Then she goes off with her, no doubt to help her pick dresses that don't demand too much attention.
"My sister is a good sister. A good aunt." Quyen helps me out of my boots, sweater, jeans. "You're like her. Practical. Smart. But you're like me too. Romantic." She smiles softly. "Mostly, you're like your mother. Pragmatic with this idealism you don't want to admit you have."
"I don't know about that."
"See." She unzips the fancier sheath. "You don't want to admit it. But I know it's there. This rushed wedding… it's because you… well, if you ask me, it's because you love the sex."
"Oh my God." I turn bright red.
She motions for me to raise my arms. Once I do, she steps onto the chair and pulls the dress over my head. "It's okay. It always starts that way. Your uncle… he's quite the—"
"Please don't finish that sentence."
She laughs. "It started that way. Physical. But it's not possible for it to stay that way. You learn to understand each other. Trust each other. Love each other."
"I…" Well, I can't tell herno, he'll never love me, but you're right, the sex is great. "We do understand each other." Kind of.
She helps me into the dress. Steps off the chair. Pulls the zipper. "It's the passion that pushes you. And the practicality that keeps you there. You are a smart woman, Jasmine. You see a good thing when you have it." She turns me to the mirror. "Beautiful."
"What do you mean?"
"You do have the frame. With taller shoes."
"About seeing a good thing?"
"He's rich and handsome and he looks at you like you're a princess. Of course, you're marrying him."
"I…" Still can't tell herno, no, it's about money, but not the way you think. "He looks at me like I'm a princess?"
She nods. "Maybe it's your body. Maybe he's thinking about what he'd like to do to you later—"
"Oh my God." Somehow, my blush deepens.
"But he does. When no one else is looking—"
"If you see him—"
"When he thinks no one else is looking."
"Oh." I try to focus on my reflection. To assess the dress objectively. To think only of how things appear. "Really?"
She nods. "I may not know much, but I know the way men look at women."
"You know a lot."
"It's true." She laughs. "I know a lot. Everything. Including this."
"I, uh…" Is it possible? That Shep really does look at me with devotion? That he's not just pretending?
