Page 98 of Push My Buttons
She nods emphatically, then signs: "Almost worth being lied to."
I laugh, relieved by the hint of humor. "Almost, huh? Guess I'll have to work harder."
We eat in companionable silence for a while. I watch her covertly, cataloging the subtle changes in her demeanor since the hospital. There's a new resolve in her eyes, a determination that wasn't there before. Whatever she remembered about her attack, whatever she discovered about herself—it's changed her.
We won’t pressure her to tell us what it was, we have no right to demand truths and secrets.
After breakfast, I drive us to the upscale shopping district downtown. Wren gives me a curious look as I park.
"I thought you might want something new to wear to the launch party next week," I explain. "My treat."
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "You don't have to do that,"she signs.
"I want to," I tell her. "Consider it part of my groveling."
She rolls her eyes but smiles, allowing me to lead her into the first boutique. It's high-end without being pretentious—exactly the kind of place where Wren might find something special without feeling overwhelmed.
A saleswoman approaches immediately, her practiced eye taking in Wren's pink hair and my casual attire.
"Can I help you find something?" she asks, her tone politely skeptical.
"My girlfriend needs a dress for a tech launch party," I say, emphasizing the word 'girlfriend' just to see the flicker of surprise on Wren's face. "Something elegant but comfortable."
The saleswoman's eyes narrow slightly. "I see. And what's your budget?"
"Sky's the limit," I reply, enjoying the way her expression shifts from dismissive to eager. I don't usually flaunt my money, but for Wren, I'll Pretty Woman the shit out of this situation.
"Of course," the woman says, suddenly all smiles. "Let me show you our newest arrivals."
She leads us through the store, pulling dresses that make Wren's eyes light up. I settle into a comfortable chair outside the fitting rooms, prepared to be patient.
"How's your head?" I ask when Wren emerges in a sleek black dress that hugs her curves.
"Fine," she signs, turning to examine herself in the mirror. She shakes her head slightly. "Not right for the event."
"Take your time," I tell her. "We've got all day."
Three boutiques later, Wren finds it—an off white shimmery slip dress with a handkerchief hem that flows around her like liquid moonlight. There are small sections that are almost sheer while other sections look almost double layered. When she steps out of the fitting room, I actually lose my breath for a moment.
"That's the one," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
She turns to look at herself in the mirror, and I catch a glimpse of her expression—thoughtful, calculating, with a gleam in her eyes that tells me she's had an idea. I know she won't tell me what it is, but the secretive little smile playing at the corners of her mouth makes my heart race.
"You like it?" I ask, moving to stand behind her.
She nods, signing: "It will work nicely."
There's something in her eyes that makes me think she's not just talking about the dress, but I don't press. Whatever she's planning, I'm sure I'll find out soon enough.
"We'll take it," I tell the hovering salesperson, who beams at the commission she's about to make.
While Wren changes back into her regular clothes, I pull out my credit card, ignoring the eyebrow raise when the saleswoman sees the black card. Money has never impressed me much, but the look on Wren's face when she saw herself in that dress—that was priceless.
"Ready to head home?" I ask when she emerges from the fitting room.
She shakes her head, signing: "One more."
She leads me to a lingerie boutique a few doors down. My mouth goes dry as I follow her inside, watching as she browses through delicate lace and silk. The knowing look she throws over her shoulder nearly stops my heart.
