29. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Cedric
D elilah walks, or rather, jogs, toward the quaint shop where she has obviously purchased most of her wardrobe, never detangling her fingers from mine.
I take in my surroundings, and can’t help but think that’s a lot of pink.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I tell her as her eyes roam excitedly all over the crutches and shelves of folded pieces of clothing.
“It’s a little late to tell me you hate my favorite color, don’t you think?”
“I merely fear drowning in the amount of dresses you are inevitably going to try on.”
A laugh escapes her as she shoots me a compassionate look.
I wonder if she has any clue of how I’m keeping tally of every smile she sends my way, guarding it as if it were a precious jewel.
“What’s the point of a paycheck if I can’t blow it on things that make me happy?” Delilah says, her eyes darting to a rack of cream and pink patterned dresses.
It’s amusing that she thinks I will let her spend a single penny today. Since I can’t be the boyfriend that will spoil her, I will have to settle for the small ways in which I can make her happy while I’m here.
After ten minutes of browsing, Delilah chatting animatedly about the fabrics and textures of the clothes she’s selected, she leads us to the fitting rooms. Since this is not, regrettably, a corny film, there are no chairs for me to lounge in as she tries on item after item while I vote with my thumbs or overly-exaggerated facial expressions.
“I’ll wait for you here,” I say, leaning against the wall next to the empty cubicle.
“I don’t want anyone to think you’re being creepy,” Delilah says, brows furrowed.
“I’ll tell them my girl is changing,” I say simply.
The apples of her cheeks darken as she mumbles something under her breath, though she rushes inside the fitting room and hastily grips the curtain until it’s shut.
Except these are obviously not curtains that shut all the way, and when I inevitably turn my head in her direction as if I were the earth and she the sun, I see it.
A sliver of the pale skin of her stomach, enough for my lips to part on a deep breath as I whip my head back and take a few steps away. For someone who made it a point to be in control, I’m performing poorly right now. She has no idea how hard it was to have her so close in her kitchen, less than an hour ago. That I was on the verge of pushing that poor excuse for a pajama out of the way so that I could touch her again. Images of her, pliant and ready for me, flash through my mind, and I close my eyes against them.
Get a bloody grip, Cedric.
A scarce minute later, Delilah hops out of the fitting room, twirling once in a knee-length light pink dress.
“It’s pretty, but I’m not sure about the bows,” she says, considering. “They make my shoulders look weird.”
I clear my throat, taking another small step further away, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Do you genuinely believe there is anything you could wear that wouldn’t look gorgeous on you?”
She turns to me, long hair swishing with the movement, exposing her collarbones.
Like I said as we set foot in this store–terrible idea.
“You’re bad for my ego,” she says with a small smile. She doesn’t have an ego, but I pointedly look at the ceiling by way of reply.
“What’s wrong? Are you not feeling alright?” she asks, genuine worry in her voice, and I shake my head, still not looking at her, like a normal person would not do.
“The hotel’s air conditioning might have irritated my throat, I think,” I say dumbly, because she’s looking at me too intently to focus.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?” she asks, crossing her arms across her chest, all but pushing her breasts together .
Oh, hell.
“Multiple people, in fact,” I say. “Go on, let’s see the next one.”
She still looks doubtful, but does as I say and disappears into the cabin.
Delilah
He wasn’t acting weird when we arrived, but suddenly he looks like there’s a scorpion in his pants. Or like he has a fever again.
I change into the next dress I’ve selected, the one I’m most excited about. For starters, it was in the clearance section, and who am I to turn a blind eye to a sixty percent reduction on full price? Second, and most important, it’s startlingly similar to the dress I was wearing when I was Turned.
I know it’s silly, and maybe it shouldn’t have been a good reason to try it on, but I inevitably ripped that dress to shreds at the time, and I really freaking liked it. If I can wear something like it again, hopefully a smidge of that anger can be healed.
I put it on, legs first, and I shimmy as I lift it up, crossing my fingers that it’ll fit the way I hope. To my joy, it’s near perfect, the lilac-pink fabric comfortable, the bodice fitting nicely, except I can’t reach the zipper. I try again, a frustrated grunt escaping me, but it’s too thin and right at the middle of my back. I refuse to purposefully take my claws out for something like this–and it’s unlikely I’d be able to perform the feat at all.
I push the curtain open, only to find Cedric turned the opposite way, hands in his pockets.
“Cedric? ”
I startle him, because he nearly dabbles over, his perfect hair wobbling.
“Yeah?” he asks, feigning nonchalance, one hand leaving the comfort of a pocket to come and rub at his jaw.
“Do you mind zipping me up?” I ask sheepishly, pointing to my back.
His lips purse skeptically, as if I’d asked him to lend me a million dollars to buy a llama farm.
“Do you, actually?” I laugh when he doesn't budge.
“Nonsense,” Cedric says after a beat, though he’s still acting strange. He steps closer and gestures for me to turn around. His elegant hands gently move my hair out of the way, though it’s the accidental contact of his knuckle against my spine as he slowly pulls the small zipper up that makes me feel things . It was barely a touch, but I already miss it.
It’s like waking up from a daze, the way I spin with wide eyes, my feet stepping back as if of their own accord. Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the tall mirror, and I feel like I’m transported on a roller coaster cart, my heart suddenly sinking and shooting to my throat a second later.
I love the dress.
“Did I hurt you? Got your hair stuck in the zipper?”
I furrow my eyebrows, and I don’t know what he’s reading on my face, but I’m pretty sure it’s not what I’m feeling. Because I probably look upset–and I am, but not at him. At myself. Because I’m wearing this dress, and for the first time in a long time, I’m believing what Cedric told me, and I do feel beautiful.
I’m grieving that it took me this long. I’m still, inescapably grieving the person I used to be. I’m grieving the person I’m going to be after Cedric’s gone .
But above all, right now, I want Cedric to touch me as I’m wearing it.
I want it too much.