Page 35 of Sire
“Lunch.” He startles me. I whip around. “My mother wants to have lunch with us.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. Ms. Faye.” His bare chest heaves like he ran a marathon, and it’s over. “She wants you to wear the dress she bought for you. She said it’s in your luggage, which, by the way, youwillunpack to stay inourhome while I go to church and come back for you at noon.”
Six hours later,I’ve showered and gotten ready, after I scoured the kitchen, mopped the floors, and dusted furniture.Our homeis spotless.
I got the sweetest feeling folding Sire’s T-shirts. The headiest sensation lifting his clean black boxer briefs to my nose: amber and musk. I left them neatly stacked on his bed, resisting the impulse to snoop around.
I may tempt him, but I’d never betray him.
And if I’m supposed to be embarrassed about wanting him this much and being honest about it, I’m not. I’m too flooded with other potent feelings.
I believe in him. I know we’re supposed to be together. I don’t care what he’s done or who he’s betrayed, so I unpack my clothes. It’s not much, but the gesture means a lot.
“Our home,” he said, and I keep hearing it.
I almost had one. I almost had a safe home with a loving mother, a cute dog, and simple happiness. I almost had what many take for granted, but I lost it all in a single, cruel stroke of bad luck and bad people.
“Wren?”
I like my name in his low, gruff voice. I like stepping out of my bedroom to greet him. I like the dark grey suit, tie, and vest he’s wearing. I like how Sire looks so handsomeright now, how he’s staring at me in that high and smiling way again.
I blink back tears.
Happy tears.
“I’m ready, just…” I turn, hiding them as he walks my way. “Can you zip me up, please?”
I lift my hair so it won’t get caught in the zipper. Ms. Faye gave me a cream tweed Chanel sleeveless minidress with a scalloped neck and hemline. I’ve never worn such luxury against my skin. I’ve never felt so pretty and like a fool, too, because I can’t reach the zipper in the back.
“You look…” His voice chokes. His heat blankets my back. “You look beautiful, Wren.”
Slowly, too slowly, he pulls the zipper up, his fingertips brushing the nape of my neck. His touch, racing innocent goosebumps down my skin, breathless desire igniting even deeper below.
“Thank you,” I sigh. “But I don’t have any heels. I only have these flats Ms. Faye gave me. I hope they’re okay.”
“My mom never had daughters.” He steps back as I turn around. “Let her spoil you. Trust me. She loves it.”
The flats Nadine gave me are Chanel, too. They’re white ballet slippers with a black, silk toe. I’m both awkward and honored wearing clothes I could never have dreamed of affording. And next to Sire, I feel like a tiny princess, too.
His intense stare drinks me in. His fists clench, then unclench, before they gesture for me to walk with him.
Escorting me to his black Mercedes sedan parked outside, he opens the passenger door for me. It’s like I’m being whisked away to meet the Queen, but Sire seems oddly quiet about it.
“Music?” I chirp.
“You’ll have to play new music on my phone.” He pulls itout of his suit pocket. “This is a nineteen ninety-five classic. It only plays cassette tapes.”
“Cassettes? Do you?—”
Interrupting, he mocks, “You’re too young to know what those are, aren’t you?”
“No. You didn’t have to see the pyramids being built to know what they are. Jeez. I was gonna ask if you have any tapes we can listen to.”
He points to the glove compartment. I open it and search through the cases, reading aloud, “Radiohead. Alanis Morissette. Pearl Jam. TLC. Wow. Did these come with the car?”
“No,” he huffs. “It was a good year for music.”
