Page 65 of Touch of Death
He shrugs.
“In a sense. Though it has more to do with the garment’s feel in relation to its intended wearer. Take this one, for example,” Eros says, pulling out a pale peach dress. “I do not have to see to know this one would make you fade into the background, draining you of energy. And this one, the cut is far too sharp, the color too angry. It would only draw the attention of those who wish harm upon you.”
He tosses a bright pink dress to one side before holding up another, then another. He gives me an explanation each time as to why they’re wrong for me.
I can’t help but be curious as I step closer, fascinated by his ability to read the dresses. It seems to matter little to him what they actually look like but more what potential they hold.
“This one,” he says, holding up a light blue dress. “This is the one.”
It’s pretty hanging from his fingers, as they all have been, but I can’t help frowning at it. Even from several feet away, I can tell there’s very little fabric to it. I’m growing tired of walking about, feeling as though I’m completely exposed to the world.
I prepare myself, nonetheless, for him to hand it over and order me to wear it.
Only he doesn’t.
“You do not like it.”
“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “It’s beautiful, truly. It’s just not me.”
“Then look through the dresses here and find one that you would prefer to wear,” he tells me.
This takes me by surprise, and I stare at him in disbelief for a moment before tentatively reaching out.
I run my fingers over the dresses, but nothing jumps out at me, and I don’t get any of the senses that Eros mentioned. I only finally come to a stop when I discover an empty hanger.
Pushing aside the dresses around it, I realize that it’s not empty. The dress was just hung incorrectly, causing it to slip off.
No wonder Eros walked right past it. It would’ve been impossible for him to know there was anything here just by running his fingers over the garments.
Pulling the dress out, I let out a gasp.
It is the most gorgeous white gown I have ever seen. It shimmers in the light like a thousand twinkling stars as I run my fingers over the delicate fabric.
It’s on par with the ethereal beauty of the silky black gown Death gave me … and it has far more fabric to it than most of the dresses here.
Combined.
I can feel Eros as he comes up behind me, reaching around me to touch the dress in my hands. He inhales sharply the moment his fingers brush against it.
In a heartbeat, he’s backed up several steps. I turn to watch him, confused by the way he frowns down at me. It’s obvious he knows exactly what dress I am holding by the way he narrows his gaze at it.
“Not that one.”
I frown, my heart sinking.
“But—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “You may choose another dress. Any dress. Just not that one.”
Disappointment creates a pit in my stomach as I run my hands over the gown. I already know it’s the only one that I want.
Even though I know there’s no point fighting him over this, I consider it for a moment. I don’t want to wear any of the barely-there dresses that he seems to have selected for me. This is the dress that calls to me. I can practically hear it begging me to slip into it.
Sighing, I give the dress one last longing look before I carefully place it back on the hanger and put it back. I hesitate a moment longer, letting my fingers linger on it for a moment before I pull away.
Taking several steps along the rack, I try to return to choosing a dress, but none of the ones I see interest me. None of them call to me as that one did. Turning, I look back to where Eros stands, a strange look on his face.
“I can’t choose one,” I tell him.
