Twenty-five

 

Liv

 

I was in a bathroom the size of the hut I’d spent days in, staring at a dress hung up on the door. I must have stood there for nearly ten minutes, dazed.

This morning had moved along too fast for me to grasp. One second, I’d been warm in Reaper’s bed, and the next I was in a giant mansion, led into a massive room by one of the most stunning woman I’d ever seen. Nicest too.

“Everything you need is in here,” she told me, with the prettiest accent. “All the essentials, clothes, everything.”

I blinked at her and then the room, taking things in one detail at a time. Four poster bed. White cream rug. Giant floor to ceiling window overlooking the back of the mansion.

I started breathing a little heavier. “I’m not ready.”

“Of course you’re not,” Sofia said, chuckling. “We would never throw your dress on now without getting you ready. There’s a bathroom over there. Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up? You have an hour before we begin fixing you up. I’ll give you your privacy.”

She walked out of the room, closing it shut behind her. Leaving me totally alone. I raced to the bathroom she’d pointed me to, determined to get cleaned up. Being surrounded by luxury, I’d never felt filthier than ever before.

I’d stripped completely and headed straight into the massive shower stall. I stood under boiling hot water, scrubbing myself with flowery scented body washes. I went to town on my hair, lavishing it with high end shampoo and conditioner. As I scrubbed myself raw, I took in the bathroom, enamoured. I wasn’t one for luxury. I had always been a simple girl. But when you’d been living in the dead of the jungle stripped of most every day conveniences, suddenly they became ultimate luxuries. Hot water was the biggest luxury of them all.

 There was a plush towel and white robe set aside for me when I stepped out. I dried myself off and threw the robe on me. I was brushing my hair in front of the mirror, gawking at how changed I’d looked – I must have lost five pounds minimum – when I saw the reflection of the door and what was hanging on the back of it.

I paused and slowly turned around. That was where I’d stood for ten minutes, reflecting on the abrupt turn of events this morning had presented. Then I roused myself out of my shock and took the dress into my hands, looking it over.

Then, as if possessed, I threw the robe off and took the dress down. It had a perfect little zip on the back. Oh, my god. I could actually wear it without help. I unzipped it and climbed into it, zipping it up easily. It ended near the top, exposing my upper back. The front had a built-in bra, and my breasts weren’t exploding. I left the bathroom and stood in front of a tall and wide mirror against one of the walls, gaping at myself.

The dress was white and ended at the knees. The fabric was soft and breathable. No ruffles. No fucking ruffles at all. No exploding bust. Completely modest and – I took a deep breath, fully able to breathe – perfect.

How the fuck had I wound up in the kind of dress I would have bought for myself if I could choose?

“Beautiful,” said Sofia. I hadn’t even heard her coming in. She was standing by the door, a large smile plastered on her face. “Do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” I almost scoffed, looking at her with wide eyes. “I love it.”

“I’m glad. I was flown in from Bogota and given a strict deadline for it.”

I gave her a look. “You made this?”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

She nodded. “I was worried about the measurements when I saw you just now. I was scared it would be too small around the bust.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m very glad.”

I looked at her, intrigued. “How did you know I’d like this kind of dress?”

“Reaper explained what he wanted.”

“I guess our tastes are alike then,” I muttered, lost in thought.

“He was very specific. Maybe he knows you better than you think.”

I let out a loud laugh, giving her a dubious look. “No, believe me, we’re practically strangers.”

“Huh,” she hummed, thoughtfully. “Sure didn’t sound that way on the phone with him. He seemed to know exactly what to get you.”

My cheeks warmed. I didn’t need to hear that because it wasn’t true. It was a lucky guess. Reaper knew nothing about me. Though I knew that was full of shit. He’d gotten to me more than anyone else ever had. Even Sonja. Fuck, I missed her.

“Do you usually work with these kinds of men,” I wondered, studying her.

She smiled reservedly. “I work with everyone.”

“I came in here dressed in practically nothing. I was filthy. I’m walking into a wedding with no family with me, my fiancé looks like he eats razor blades for dessert, and you haven’t been one bit disturbed by it.”

“A smart person knows when not to ask questions.” It was then her face fell the slightest bit, and I saw it. I saw the flash of fear in her eyes.

“You’re used to this,” I said, and it wasn’t a question.

She sighed, looking my dress over slowly. “Most of my clientele are questionable people. But they come in for one thing. And that’s the highest quality of clothing they can find, and someone who can meet their vision. I don’t ask for names. I don’t take credit cards, just cash. And I only ask for one thing, and that’s their measurements. I take them, and I fashion them what they desire. There are no cameras in my shop. There are no workers. It’s a private market that brings in a very high stream of private people who want to remain anonymous.”

My breath escaped in a whoosh, surprised. “All for clothing?”

“Clothing is an expression of one’s self. It may seem small to you, but it has tangible meaning for others.”

I felt hot with shame. “I didn’t mean to downplay that, I’m sorry. I just had no idea.”

Her smile was soft. “No offense taken.”

“You’re right, though,” I expressed, nodding at her as I looked over the dress. “I feel happy in this. I feel…like it’s me. It’s what I would have wanted. You nailed it, and I’m grateful to be wearing it.”

She looked genuinely happy about that. “Let’s match that through your hair and make-up.”

Sofia called in the other ladies and together they began their work on me. I had to remove the dress and wear a tea length slip that helped to accentuate my form. It was so comfortable. Even the lacey underwear they’d given me didn’t make me squirm. I wasn’t used to this. I’d expected to be squeezed like a sausage again – not wear fabrics that actually fit me. My hair was up in a nice updo. There was no camera in my face as they worked on my make up. They didn’t cake my skin up with layers of bullshit. All the colours were natural. My face still felt light when they finished. My nails were cleaned, shaped, and cut short; the nail polish was a light cotton candy pink.

By the time they were done, I was staring at myself in the mirror and feeling the strangest things happening in my chest.

“Do you like it?” Sofia asked, standing alongside me while the ladies began tidying up.

“I don’t look like a two-bit hooker squeezed into a ballroom dress with a bow the size of Pluto on my hip,” I said. She laughed, and I tried to laugh too, but for some stupid reason I felt tears prick my eyes. I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see.

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned, her laughter dying immediately.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

How could I explain to her that if I would have chosen, it would have been this exact look I would have gone for? She would tell me to be happy about that. She wouldn’t understand the gravity of what that meant for me: someone who wasn’t allowed to make decisions, or pick their own fucking dress, or even groom for that matter.

“Now come wear your bridal shoes,” she said, excited. “The best part of it all.”

She opened a box on the dresser and removed white, flat ballerina shaped patent leather shoes. They were each fitted with lace to wrap around the ankle with stitched flower designs along the front of the shoe. It was simple and elegant. Exactly what I liked.

“Let me guess,” I whispered, “he picked this too.”

“Yes.”

And, of course, exactly my size.

An hour had past from start to finish and we were completely done and ready. She gave me a stunning bouquet of pink roses that I clasped so tight my hands hurt. I followed her out of the room, and she led me down long spiral stairs to the bottom. She explained the ceremony was taking place outside under a pavilion and that I could go straight to my honeymoon lodge after we said out vows. I was half-listening. At some point, I’d gone pretty much deaf, listening as my heart beats thudded in my ears.

This was happening, wasn’t it?

I was walking toward the inevitable and still fighting to believe it. For so long, I knew it was going to happen, but it always felt like it was around the corner.

My feet moved silently on the marble floor. The opulence of the home was staggering. With the classical furniture, glittering chandelier and rich light colours, it felt like a palace. But I was hardly taking it in. I moved like a robot as Sofia led the way. I didn’t hyperventilate like I did with Tony. This was different. This felt…realer than that phony arrangement. Maybe because I kissed my would-be husband. Maybe because he got to me like no one else had. Maybe because I never communicated so personally to another human being like I did with him, and most of our language had been silent to start with.

“Follow the trail,” she told me as we got to the opened glass door to the backyard. “It was a romantic little touch I added in.”

I nodded at her, unable to form words. She gave me a light hug and wished me good luck. I stepped out in the humid air. It was gently spitting out, with the sky mostly overcast. I followed a trail of stones and rose petals to the pavilion. She was right. It was a very nice touch. It felt romantic. Which was laughable. Reaper – fuck, the name Reaper screamed it all – did not seem the romantic type.

I kept my eyes downcast, focusing intently on the petals. At some point I knew I had to look up. It took everything in me to, and when I did, I paused mid-step for a beat or two, looking at the tall, white wooden pavilion, bordered with red and white roses.

There were only two people standing there.

One was the clergyman. The other…was Reaper, and he looked totally different. He was wearing a deep blue suit, open at the jacket, revealing a very much tailored blue vest, white dress shirt, and stunning white tie. His face was clean shaven, and his hair was tied back nicely. It suited him, this gentleman sort of look. Even though I knew the savage body that lay beneath the clean-cut exterior was far from gentlemanly.

 He watched me intently as I practically inched to them. For the first time, I noticed a different expression adorn his face. He looked genuinely awestruck. It filled me with confidence to move forward a little faster. My blood was rushing through my body. Butterflies danced fitfully in my stomach. I stepped under the pavilion and stopped in front of him, looking him over with equal wonderment.

“You look good,” I stuttered out.

I swear he looked nervous for a splitting second, but he buried it away with that self-assured cocky ass smile. “I ain’t in my element right now.”

“And you think I am?” I asked, laughing lightly.

“You’re used to playing dress up.”

“I’m not used to wearing something this comfortable.”

“You like it?” He was genuinely asking.

I gave him a strange look. “You really just went for what you wanted when you put me in this dress?”

He looked me over. “You don’t like my taste?”

“On the contrary,” I said. “I just expected more tits coming from you.”

“The tits are supposed to be for my eyes only.”

“It’s just you and me. There’s no one else here.”

“Who the fuck would we want here anyway?”

“All my friends,” I replied, sarcastically.

“I think we can count on one hand how many of those you have.”

“Okay. Then all of yours.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Feisty, my guys are thunderous fucks who drink like booze is water and fuck anything within two feet of ‘em. Not the kind of guys you’d want here in the middle of the fucking jungle.”

“Yeah, we’d need too many jungle prostitutes for that.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a wedding, would it?”

“It’d be an orgy.”

“Exactly. See, I thought ahead.”

I laughed, my cheeks warming as his heated eyes took me in. “You’re…exactly right.”

He was. Who the hell would I have invited to this make-belief wedding? Only…it didn’t feel all that make-belief.

The clergyman looked deeply disturbed as he stood there, overhearing our conversation while uncomfortably looking down at the words he’d have to say to us.

“You’re beautiful,” Reaper suddenly said, cutting the humour and looking deadly serious.

My heart squeezed painfully. I tried to smile. I couldn’t. Instead, I forced a small nod and muttered shyly, “I don’t know your name, Reaper.”

The smile he gave me then was larger than life. “Remy.” He put a hand to his chest. “Remy Martinez at your service.”

I didn’t get the “at your service” part, but he seemed to be triggered by a memory saying that. A good memory judging by that smile. I’d have to get to the bottom of that story.

I’d have to get to the bottom of Remy Martinez in general to survive a whole lifetime with him.

“Alright, Remy,” I whispered, tasting his name on my tongue for the first time. “Let’s get this bullshit done with.”

Nodding, his face turned dark as he barked at the clergyman to, “Hurry the fuck up.”