Page 47 of Fierce

“No. The truth.”

“How do you know that wasn’t the truth?”

“Because I know you. Come on.” His hand beckoned, his eyes compelled. “The truth.”

“Well, then.” I took a breath and went for it. “I thought most of the clothes were beautiful. And I don’t think you should use anorexic models.”

He sighed. “I should’ve known.”

I shrugged, feeling better. “You asked.”

“I did, didn’t I. And at least you liked the collection. Most of it. Go on.”

I shouldn’t have, but I did anyway. Maybe the day had just been too long, or maybe there were places I was willing to contemplate being a butterfly, and places I wasn’t. “You know the arguments as well as I do. That the girls themselves are dangerously thin. That most of them have eating disorders by definition, and some of them abuse drugs to stay at a weight their bodies never intended. That it sets an unhealthy standard of beauty for women, and especially for young girls. Girls like Karen,” I added. Hah. Two could be sneaky. If he had a soft spot for my sardonic little sister, I’d play on it.

“Karen,” he said, “who’s as thin as any of them. And did we ever establish what you weigh? I’m thinking maybe 98 pounds soaking wet, eh. Maybe.”

“It doesn’t matter what I weigh.” If I’d been uncertain about engaging him before, that uncertainty was long gone. “If I modeled, I’d have to lose ten percent of it, you can count on that. How good do you think I’d look to you if I weighed 90 pounds instead? I’m a 32B now.” Oh, boy. Reckless all the way. “Ten pounds less, and I’d be a 32A, and you’d really be excited about seeing me naked then.”

He was getting his intense look again, the one that made my heart beat faster. “Have I ever made you feel that I thought you were anything less than beautiful?” he asked. “Ever given you the impression that I wasn’t more than ready to touch every bit of you, or that any part of you wasn’t enough for me?”

“OK. Wait.” I put both hands to my forehead and breathed. “Whoa. I got us way off track. Give me a second here.”

He didn’t say anything, and I took another breath, then lifted my head. “OK. I’m trying again. Setting myself aside—I’ve worked with models for years, you know. I know exactly how they maintain that weight. And it’s—it’s very nearly criminal, what you guys do to them.”

“Could we go back to you being Cinderella again?” he complained, but I could tell he wasn’t really upset. “What was that you said? Going along with everything I want, doing whatever I say, in return for my rescuing you? I’ll have that, please.”

I had to laugh, I was so surprised. “Yes, but I didn’t do it, remember?’

“Too right I remember,” he muttered, and I laughed again and felt so much better.

“But I’m right,” I told him, “and you must know it.”

He shrugged. “It’s fashion. It’s the world we’re in.”

“Yes. And you’re your own man.” If I was sure of anything, I was sure of that. “You set your own rules. Somebody has to stand up for what’s right.”

“And I’m that man?”

“Aren’t you?”

I looked at him, and he looked back at me, and there was that ping again. That connection.

“Hope.” The voice beside me was sharp, and I whirled. Martine.

“Excuse me,” she said to Hemi.

“One minute,” he said calmly.

Her head came around fast, and she stared at him. He didn’t say anything, just held her gaze and waited.

Two beats, three, until she nodded at me and said, “Please come check in with me when you’re finished here,” and stalked across the room.

I let go of the breath I’d been holding. “Uh-oh.”

“Nah,” Hemi said. “Here’s your cheat sheet. I was asking you about the schedule for tomorrow. And you keep forgetting, don’t you.”

“What? That you’re the boss? Trust me. I don’t forget. It must be the spider thing. Somehow, I keep remembering that.” I’d have blamed the wine, except that I hadn’t had any.

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