As much as I want to give her the full story, it would mean admitting what brought me back into her life, and I’m not sure our relationship is strong enough to weather that storm just yet. It’s a double-edged sword because the longer I go without spilling everything to her, the harder it gets.
“I was on my way here and she pounced on me in the elevator. I shoved her away and instructed my staff that she is not to set foot back in my building. If she turns up and causes a scene, I'll have her arrested on the spot for trespassing,” I reassure her.
She stares at me for a long moment before coming to a decision. Slowly, she nods, before taking the napkin from my hands and wiping the space at the side of my mouth I must have missed.
“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” she apologizes quietly.
“No,” I tell her, taking her hand, “this is pretty damning. Thank you for believing me.”
She smiles. It's not her usual blinding one, but I'll take it.
“What brings you here, anyway?” she questions, placing the napkin back on the table and moving the conversation into safer territory.
“A little birdy might have told me that shopping was no fun for you today,” I hedge carefully, unsure how she will react to Davis reporting back to me.
“A little birdy, huh? And does this little birdy's name rhyme with Mavis by any chance?” She shakes her head and laughs softly.
“Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that something happened today, and you didn’t call me. Tell me what happened.”
She looks away with a sigh until I slide my finger under her jaw and turn her head back to face me.
“Talk to me,” I urge.
“What do you think most people see when they look at me?” she asks, blowing out a frustrated breath.
“I think they see a gorgeous girl they want to emulate. Girls want to be like you and guys want to be inside of you,” I answer immediately.
She slaps my chest playfully and laughs, but it has an edge of sadness to it, which I don’t like one little bit.
“You, hubby, are clearly biased, but I appreciate it. In real life, though, that's not the case.” She sighs and looks back up at me.
“Back on my side of Manhattan, I blend in. I'm just one of the masses in all my Technicolor glory. On this side of town, though, I'm judged and found lacking before I've even opened my mouth. After a year away from it all, I forgot what it was like. Almost. I can change who I am to fit the mold you need me to fill. I've done it before but, Asher, I was so unhappy.
“Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong to the life you were born into? It wasn't always that way for me, but after a while, the expectations grew, and I ended up feeling like I was an imposter playing dress-up to please the masses. And inside, I was slowly dying.”
I look at her and remember flashes of that night so long ago back in Vegas. The sensible skirt and flattering blouse, sexy in an understated way, but definitely missing the wild flair that I love so much about her.
“I don't want you to be anyone but who you are.” And I mean it. That would be like holding a beautiful butterfly in my hands and wishing for a moth.
“I know, but there will be times, many if this works out between us, where I won't fit into your world. I don't mind dressing up and playing my part for special events, but this,” she waves her hand over her body before looking back up at me, “is as good as it’s going to get on a day to day basis.”
“Skittle, if this is who I get to wake up to every day and slide inside of every night, I'll die a happy man who spent a lifetime bathed in color.”
She stares at me in open-mouthed shock. “Who the hell are you, Asher Sloan?” she whispers, searching my eyes for an answer.
“I'm the man who is about to rectify a wrong. Nobody messes with my wife and gets away with it,” I inform her.
Twenty-Three
Linda
We pull up outside the first boutique we went to earlier in the day, parking in front of the store, giving the assistants that snubbed me an unobstructed view of the Lexus through the large plate-glass window.
I sit patiently as Asher climbs out and prowls over to my side of the car like a man on a mission. Swinging the door open wide, he offers me his hand and helps me climb out.
“Where to first?” he asks, making me hesitate. “Did you see anything that caught your eye?” he prompts.
I think back and remember the black dress with the rainbow-colored sheath beneath it and point to the small store across the street from us.
“Okay, then, that's where we’ll start,” he announces matter-of-factly, taking my hand in his.
I let him pull me along, deftly maneuvering us across the busy street and into the high-end boutique that smells of honey and lavender. An odd combination, perhaps, but it somehow seems to work.
“Can I help you?” a regal sounding voice asks, making both Asher and me turn to look over toward the counter.
A tall, elegant blonde woman in an expensive-looking heather-gray pantsuit walks around the counter, approaching us with a professional smile on her face. Thankfully, she isn’t the woman who was rude to me earlier.
“I hope so. My name is Asher Sloan, this is my wife Linda, and we are here to do some shopping. She was here earlier today and found something she liked but left empty-handed when staff members made her feel uncomfortable. Tell me Miss...” He waits for her to fill in the blanks as I grip his hand, embarrassed.
“Jones. Mrs. Jones,” she answers, looking from Asher to me with a frown on her face.
“Mrs. Jones, right. Are you willing to help us or should we go elsewhere? I have the money, but zero patience for bullshit,” he adds.
I look up at him with a scowl as I elbow him in the ribs before addressing the woman. “What my rude ass of a husband is trying to say is, I’ve had a less than stellar morning. I don't fit the mold like most of the women who frequent these shops do. I'm a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl. With these tattoos and the crazy hair, well, let's just say most of the shops along this strip have been less than hospitable. I promise, I’m not a troublemaker.”
She holds up her hand for me to stop talking as Asher tenses beside me.
“Did someone here mistreat you?” Her voice is sharp as a whip and leaves no room for arguments.
“Erm... a young woman with red hair and a face that looked like she had sucked on a lemon,” I answer quietly, making Asher chuckle.
“Ah, Julia. Well, rest assured, I shall be talking to her when she returns tomorrow. And just so you know, Mrs. Sloan, my husband is a biker. Every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos, which I'm quite fond of if I do say so myself,” she informs me with a wink, making me smile my first genuine smile of the day.
“Come, let's move this over to the changing rooms, and I'll bring you what I have in store that I think will complement your coloring and style. Was there anything in particular that caught your attention earlier?”
I tell her about the dress I saw in the window this morning, making her smile widely.
“Oh, that will be perfect and with your hair, it's like it was made for you. Mr. Sloan, are you coming?” she asks, turning her attention from me back to Asher once more.