Page 77 of The Villain
Daniel will love it. Now, I’ll need something for Amal, which is easy because the shop right next door is a cosmetics shop. I smile, knowing exactly what Amal will like, and I pick up a basket. The soldiers stand uneasily at the door as I weave around the aisles and grab pallets of eye shadow and too many eyeliners and lipsticks to count. Amal loves makeup so why not?
I don’t even blink when they ring up my purchasesand I ask them to send them up to Mr. Trevino’s room as well.
My last stop is the boutique to buy a dress. Elenora’s is a few shops down and I know she’s expecting me when she opens the door before I even have a chance to.
“Ms. Moretti, welcome!” she says, her Italian accent heavy. She barely looks at the soldiers. “I’ve arranged everything.”
“Thank you,” I say as she locks the door behind me.
“You two can wait here,” she tells the soldiers, pointing to a sofa. She says it with such authority, they only glance at each other and sit as she leads me through a curtain to a back area. “I’ve already chosen several dresses. I know what Cassian likes,” she says and signals for me to follow her.
I notice how she uses his first name, not Mr. Trevino like the others, and look at her with a new interest. She’s in her early thirties, I’d guess. A few years older than Cassian, but not much. And she’s very attractive. Very sophisticated. Very European. I don’t want to be intimidated, but I admit, I am.
I clear my throat, wishing I’d applied more makeup and wasn’t wearing combat boots while she’s in her Versace pumps.
“He was right about the size,” she says, appraising me as we walk through the burgundy velvet curtains that fall heavily closed behind me. This part of the shop contains a comfortable sofa before a slightly raised platform where a three-way mirror stands. On either side of the mirror are curtained off dressing rooms. I notice thetray of various bottles of liquor, too many brands of whiskey to count.
“I hope you like the selection. He mentioned red…” she trails off as she pulls a rack forward.
“They’re beautiful,” I say, meaning it as she holds one dress then another up. “A little showy for me, though. Do you have something black?”
“Cassian said red.”
“Cassian’s not the one who has to wear it,” I say with a smile. “Black please.”
“Why don’t you start with these,” she says, clearly disappointed. “But I’ll see what I can find. Right in here.” She carries the first of the dresses into one of the dressing rooms and I follow her, noticing the shoes already lined up to go with the dresses. I guess she’s seeing a big payday.
“Sure,” I say. “Maybe not so plunging a neckline for the black dress.”
“Of course.” She draws the curtain closed and I stand before the mirror inside the room that’s about the size of Daniel’s bedroom. I drop down onto the chair to untie my laces wondering what I’m doing, what we’re doing, playing dress-up. Because what is this? My brother owes Cassian money. A lot of money. I’m collateral. And my time is just about up. So why am I here trying on dresses like this is some movie where he’s the hero and I’m the heroine? Like we’ll fall in love and live happily ever after.
“Do you need help?” Elenora says peeking in.
I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I tell her. I just have to get through this. Pick a dress. I don’t care which. Then Ican go back upstairs and think. Try to work through this confusion.
I put on the first dress which is lovely, a deep red silk that feels so soft against my skin it’s like I’m not wearing anything at all. It’s elegantly cut, and I hate that I find myself thinking he’s right. The red does look good against my skin and hair.
“Oh, now, that’s beautiful,” Elenora says, startling me. She draws the curtain fully open and gestures for me to step out in front of the three-way mirror.
“Did you find something black?” I ask her, a little irritated by her pushiness.
She smiles, but I see her annoyance. She points to a simple black sheath. “Great,” I say, taking it into the dressing room and not letting myself try on the choker she tries to show me. Instead, I slip back behind the curtain and strip off the beautiful dress to put on the simpler one. At least she’s quiet, I think, as I reach back to zip it up, but the zipper gets stuck almost right away.
“Elenora?” I call out as I slip out from behind the curtain.
I stop dead the instant I do. Because it’s not Elenora who is looking back at me.
It’s Jet Blackstone.
I gasp, my heart racing.
He smiles, sips his whiskey. He’s seated at the center of the couch, one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee, casual as can be. He’s wearing black on black. Jet black. Jet Blackstone. And he looks like the perfect villain. A lot like Cassian does.
He uncrosses his legs and sits there like that, legsspread, just looking at me. When he finally sets the whiskey down, I draw in a breath. He stands, putting a finger to his lips to signal for me to be quiet.
I remain as I am, dumbfounded, and watch him climb up to where I’m standing. I instinctively take a step backward. He’s big, as big as Cassian. And even if he did rescue me out of that crypt, there is something about him that makes me uneasy. That scares me. Because he is dangerous. I know that. Perhaps not quite foe, he is something other than friend.
“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
