23. Would That Be Enough?
Chapter twenty-three
Would That Be Enough?
Kira
T rue to his word, a man showed up towards the end of my evening shift, after the last patrons had purchased their art, and we had their information to deliver their paintings to them.
“I’m Keith Bourne,” a handsome Irishman said. They must have put something in the water up in Ireland. This man was hot, but there was something off-putting about him too. Not like Eoghan and that Dairo guy. They were good looking, but they didn’t wield it like a weapon. Keith did. His smile looked like the teeth of a shark before a bite. “I’m supposed to take you to a bridal store on Madison, then take you to your…” His eyes roamed my body and it made me want to gag. “Nuptials.”
Every alarm bell in my head screamed to not trust this man. He was bad. Very, very bad. I needed to get away from him at all costs.
Sirens in my head blared danger-danger-danger!
“I just…” I stepped backwards, creating space between us. Thankfully, he didn’t follow. “I need to go back to my office, and just close out some things.”
There was an exit by my office. If I needed to avoid him, I could sneak out the back.
What if he was with the loan shark? What if he was worse? I turned and walked off, trying not to run, as I brought my phone to my ear. I dialed a number that was getting as familiar to me as my own.
It clicked on, and his voice greeted with a quick, “Yes, my sweet Muse?”
I almost wanted to laugh in relief, even though hearing his voice, by itself, did not mean I was safe. But it gave me the illusion of it, nonetheless.
“Someone says that you sent them here to pick me up?” I tried to sound calm.
“Keith Bourne, yes. Is he there?”
“Yes, but I just… wanted to make sure.”
“Of course, love, I should have called you and told you who was coming.” I heard him grunt as if he was… working out? “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I am.” I hugged myself a little, suddenly dreading the idea of being in the car with that strange man. That… Keith. “Are you okay? Are you at the gym or something?”
I heard the sound of something metallic clamping. I thought I could hear a muffled voice in the background.
“I’m just…” Grunt . “Tying up some loose ends.” A groan from another man. More metal clacking. “I’ll be at the church in a moment, waiting for you, Miss Kekoa.”
Eoghan. A church.
“You should call me Kira,” I said with a slight laugh. He was always so formal.
“I’ll call you by your Christian name when you’re Mrs. Green.” I wondered if he was smiling. He sounded like he was.
He hung up the phone and I brought it to my chest, wondering if I had been staring at one of those old portraits of a handsome gentleman from a different century, and God had given me that man to marry. Had he been brought to life from those classical paintings I had spent too much time admiring?
I did get in the car with Keith.
I sat in the back, grateful for the distance between us, but as we drove into the insanity of New York Traffic, I noticed that his eyes kept hovering to the rearview, and his smirk made me bristle. It felt like he was pricking my skin.
“Could you put the divider up?” I tried to put on my most commanding voice.
“Aye, ma’am,” he said, as he pressed the little button to bring up the black screen.
Finally, alone, I tried to take a deep breath, reminding myself that I was getting married. MARRIED.
I had never imagined a big wedding with hundreds of guests. I didn’t even know hundreds of people! Those kinds of weddings weren’t really a luxury of the working class, anyway. Who had time to stay close to hundreds of people anyway? You gotta be rich to justify that kind of expense. But then again, if you were rich, did you care how many people you stuffed into the hotel of your choice?
No. I had always wanted an intimate affair. My father, me, and whatever girlfriend I might be able to retain between the hours I worked forging paintings, and selling them alongside overpriced dabs of acrylic on canvas.
No, I didn’t think I’d ever have time to cultivate the relationship that would be needed for a marriage, much less have a wedding. At least until Eoghan arrived, with that single-minded tenacity, and focus that was aimed adoringly right at me.
Keith pulled up next to a store, and turned off the engine. He got out and opened my door, and his eyes followed me as I got out, staying entirely too long on my legs. A store door opened, and a woman in a Tiffany turquoise green sheath dress stood, with a plastered smile on her face.
“Miss Kekoa? We’ve been expecting you.” Her smile was tight and was less than friendly.
Despite the late hour, the bridal store behind her was brightly lit like it was daytime. Beside her were women in the same kind of colors, standing with their hands clasped in front of them, their hair perfectly pulled back.
“Uh, thanks,” I said, as I stepped into the brilliant, bright, and very, very white shop. Tulle, silk, lace, and crystals adorned every single nook and crevice of this place. Not a single price tag in sight, which meant that the dresses were obscenely expensive.
“Miss Kekoa, let’s start with what kind of looks you like…” She came over with a pearl-white book that I knew would be full of pictures, but I didn’t need them.
I told her what I wanted. When they tried to pin a veil on me, I batted it away, looking at the florist who stood with an orchid bouquet and told her what I wanted to adorn my head.
“I don’t think that’ll go well with the hair we had planned for you,” the head Tiffany said, her hands on her hips. “Eoghan Green likes a minimalist look, so we were going to do a French twist, with…”
I snorted.
I looked at the women, and the one who was in charge. I assessed her from head to toe. She was thin, beautiful, and sleek. Exactly the kind of woman I would have expected for Eoghan Green. The exact kind of woman she had probably expected too.
“Eoghan didn’t choose a slicked back woman with pale skin, and no curves,” I looked her up and down, with my best disdainful glare. “He’s marrying me. He knows what he’s proposed to.”
These women weren’t going to make me sweat. Not now. Not ever.
Was I insecure with the sudden knowledge that Eoghan Green had possibly slept his way through every skinny pair of legs in New York City? Yes. But I wouldn't let that show.
“I want what I want,” I said, in my best imitation of Cosima. “If you don’t give it to me, Eoghan will know who’s to blame.”
Tiffany’s jaw clenched, and she looked at me with a quiet storm in her eyes.
She didn’t like me, and the feeling was quite mutual. But for once, I had all the cards. Not because I had earned it, but because I was marrying into it.
“I know what I want to look like on my wedding day,” I said, lifting my chin. “And my fiancé will adore me, no matter what I choose.”
I watched her nostrils flair, before she stretched her neck to one side, then replaced that tight smile on her pinchy little face.
“Yes ma’am,” she said, as she walked away with the vile little veil she was trying to offer me, and looked at myself in the mirror. They pinched, polished, and powdered me to death. I was sewn into the dress so that it hugged my waist, my rounded hips and breasts, and made my skin practically glow with the contrast to the bright white of the light, diamond-laced fabric that came off the shoulder into a corseted, plunging neckline, and a simple A-line that narrowed just a little at the knees to give a hint of a mermaid silhouette.
It wasn’t gaudy, like the ring on my finger. It didn’t sparkle large enough to signal the green lantern if I needed to. But it was me.
Would that be good enough?