Page 29 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
She didn’t understand how other women loved shopping so much. It was exhausting. And more than a bit depressing; the clothes always looked much better on the mannequins than on her.
By the time three o’clock rolled around, she’d had enough.
“Enough!” she said to Asher just as he was about to wrap a tissue-thin silk Hermes scarf around her neck. It was the color of the Mediterranean, an enameled azure blue, and floated like a cloud between his hands. She spied the price tag and nearly gagged.
“Don’t even start with me, chica, you’re getting this scarf whether you like it or not. You need color against that pasty skin of yours.” He eyed her complexion and clucked in disapproval. “When you’re that pale, you need something slightly darker yet brighter than your skin tone to complement it. This is definitely your color.” He held it up to his face and examined himself in the nearby full-length mirror, smiled at his reflection, and blew himself a kiss. “And mine.”
“Asher, you know I can’t afford—”
“Tch! Quiet! Not another word, ingrate! I told you this is on me!”
He’d already bought her a dress, shoes, and a matching handbag, and had snuck in some lacy black underwear while she wasn’t looking—a matching bra and panty set that looked decadent enough to eat. She wouldn’t wear them. If she wore them, she’d be exquisitely aware of them all during dinner. She’d know they were there, lurking beneath her clothing, all fancy and feminine and demanding to be ogled.
Too dangerous. No elaborate underwear. She wasn’t even sure she was going to shave her legs.
By the time they made it back to the apartment, Ember was so exhausted she forgot to be quiet on the way in. Four steps past Dante’s apartment door and he burst through it as if he’d been coughed out.
“Americana!” He held his arms out wide, beaming at her as if she were a long-lost relative. His black toupee was askew atop his balding head, as always, but at least he was dressed: trousers and a dark blue cardigan that looked a little moth-eaten around the edges. “So good to see you! How was the weekend in Terrassa with your amor?”
Asher and Ember glanced at one another. Asher made a jerking little head motion toward Dante: play along!
“Um, it was, um…short.”
There. That wasn’t exactly a lie. It was so short it actually hadn’t happened at all.
“Ah! Young love! So…” He muttered to himself in Spanish, searching for the right word, then, finding it, brightened. “Sweet!”
Love? Ember’s face reddened. With a sour glance at Asher, she said sarcastically, “It really is, isn’t it? Love is like oxygen. Love is a many splendored thing. Love lifts us up where we belong—”
“Dante, your English is getting so good,” Asher interrupted smoothly, ignoring her. “Ember’s lessons have been working!”
“Muchas gracias!” Dante made a low, sweeping bow that would have done the king proud, and when he rose someone stood in the open door behind him. A girl of about ten, pale and willowy, with dark hair and eyes the exact color of the summer sky in Taos—a deep, fathomless blue.
“Hi! I’m Clare. What’s your name?” The girl skipped forward to stand near Ember. She looked up at her with an open, curious expression, very direct for such a young person. At her age, Ember had avoided adults like the plague.
“My granddaughter,” explained Dante, turning to the girl with an expression of such obvious pride and tenderness Ember had to look away.
“I’m Ember.”
Clare stuck out her hand and Ember, bemused, took it. They shook hands as if they’d just sealed a very important deal and Clare began to chatter in perfect English.
“Cool name! What does it mean? I was named after my grandma who died. You’re pale like me. Roberto says I need to get out in the sun more, but I like to read and watch TV and play with Bieber and he doesn’t like to go outside very much so neither do I. Do you like video games?”
Clare was looking at her expectantly. Some kind of reply was obviously in order but she wasn’t sure where to start after that dizzying intro.
“Who’s Roberto? And Bieber?”
“Roberto is my son, her father,” Dante said, ruffling Clare’s hair affectionately. “And this little monkey knows she’s not supposed to call her father by his first name, but ‘not supposed to’ never stopped her from anything, did it, Clare?”
Clare beamed. “Nope.” She turned back to Ember. “Bieber’s my dog. He’s a Yorkie. I named him after my favorite singer. Do you like Justin Bieber? Roberto says little dogs are for gays but I love him.” Now she turned her direct gaze to Asher and smiled at him. After looking him up and down—taking in his gym-perfect physique, skinny jeans, the designer glasses, and the fuchsia socks that peeked out above the patent leather Pradas—she said with innocent curiosity, “Do you have a little dog?”
Asher answered with great sincerity, “No. But according to Roberto, I definitely should.”
“Cool!” Clare beamed again, glad that was settled.
“Go back inside, gordita, it’s too cold out here for you and you’re not wearing your jacket,” Dante scolded gently.
Though there was a slight chill in the air, the sun was shining brightly, and neither Ember nor Asher had bothered with jackets today. She wondered if Clare caught cold easily, if that was the reason for her pale skin, those faint purple bruises beneath her eyes. And she was so thin. Maybe she was recovering from the flu that was going around?
