“DO YOU LIKE IT?”
Gypsy stood in front of a display of black lace embellished bras, her eyes cutting over the patterns like razors.
“This is weird,” she said finally.
Her gaze darted around the store, taking inventory of the watchful observers around us. I knew she was anxious, but I was still trying to narrow down why. It wasn’t until another woman tapped me on the arm and showboated her pearly white teeth that the mystery started to unravel.
“Excuse me?” The interloper held up two different bras in her hands. “I was wondering if you had these in my size, 34D?”
I stared at her incredulously, but my response wasn’t necessary. Gypsy took it upon herself to answer.
“Do you seriously think you’re fooling anyone with that, sweetheart? He doesn’t work here, so get lost.”
The woman stomped off, and Gypsy edged closer, irritation brewing in her eyes. She was marking her territory, being me, and I was just coming to understand what was happening. We were in a store full of women. And some of those women had decided they had an appreciation for me, judging by the sly smiles they tossed my way as I looked around the room.
I knew that Gypsy would find it difficult to believe, but I rarely noticed such things. I had suppressed my sexuality for so long that the lustful gazes of complete strangers weren’t even on my radar.
For seventeen years, there wasn’t a woman on this earth who could make me succumb to her temptations. At least, not until her. And now I had a decision to make. One that could teach Gypsy a lesson, or one that could make her feel secure. The latter option was wrong, given that I wasn’t here to comfort her. If she grew accustomed to my comforts, then it would only prove to hurt her more in the end.
I wanted more than anything for her to be strong enough to stand on her own. To see that she was smart and capable of living a life she deserved. But I also wanted to hold her and tell her that it was okay. That I was hers.
And it was all wrong.
I pulled her against me and whispered in her ear. “Those women don’t mean anything to me, pet. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Right.” She buried her head against my chest, obscuring her eyes as I petted her hair. “Because I don’t mean anything to you either.”
My hand froze, and unjustified irritation bubbled up inside me at her accusation. Of course, she had every right to say it because it’s exactly what I’d been telling her from the beginning. But when she said it, I wanted to tell her how wrong she was. Already, I’d shown too much weakness as far as she was concerned. I was breaking every rule I’d set and doing everything I promised myself I wouldn’t, so I stayed silent.
It was a coward’s move, yet also, the right move. It might hurt now, but in the end, I hoped she would see I was doing what was best for her.
The car ride home was a quiet one, and even though I’d convinced her to buy some clothes, she’d still have a lot of shopping to do on her own.
I was surprised she didn’t complain when I took her to regular department stores where the price tags were generally under fifty dollars per piece. It wasn’t about the money; it was about the materialistic spell she’d been under for so long. But it seemed that somewhere between the darkness of last night and the dawn of today, that spell had broken.
She picked out the pieces herself. Things I didn’t necessarily expect. They weren’t as tight or form fitting as her old clothes. They weren’t meant to display her body and drive men mad. They were items with purpose and comfort. Tee shirts, jeans, shorts. A few summer dresses and a single pair of flip-flops. After a brief argument over who would pay, I slipped the sales woman my card and won the battle.
Now I had the rest of the day to account for, and a lot of catching up to do on Emmanuel’s case. I could have taken Gypsy home, but it occurred to me there was another solution for both our problems. She wasn’t the type of woman who could be satisfied with a few hours of schoolwork every day. She needed something to challenge her, and I needed her expertise since I was anything but charming. She’d already signed the non-disclosure agreement, and I had Emmanuel’s permission to disclose information to her as my assistant, so I pointed the car in the direction of his old neighborhood.
“I need your help.” I turned off the ignition and stared at the small yellow house on the corner. The media frenzy had died down, but there were still signs of the shame Emmanuel’s family bore. The windows were boarded up, and there were extra locks on the door. They, too, were living like they were in prison.
“What is this place?” Gypsy asked.
“It’s my client’s mother’s house. I’ve been trying to get her to speak to me, but it hasn’t panned out.”
She turned to me, eyes sharp. “And what makes you think I can help with that?”
There were many different answers I could give her. She was a con artist, but that wasn’t the label I wanted to use, especially when I’d been steadfast in trying to break her of it.
“There’s something about you that makes people take notice,” I said. “You are tragic and beautiful, and I have a feeling she will be more receptive to you.”
She looked out the window, staring at the house with a softness she didn’t often display. “I guess she doesn’t know that you’re tragic and beautiful too.”
I smiled, and Gypsy threaded her fingers through mine. The darkness that seemed to linger between us was tempered, at least for now.
“I’ll help you,” she said. “Just tell me what I need to do.”