15. Vicious Woman
Vicious Woman
Blaze
Jo and I have fallen into an almost comfortable pattern.
Mommy and Daddy Dashwood refuse to let us move into the loft together until after the wedding, and after discovering that I had no residence to return to, which started another massive argument, they insisted I stay at the Dashwood house.
Bless Jo’s beautiful heart, she’s staying in her room at the family estate instead of leaving me to the wolves and running back to the modiste.
While the Dashwoods have controlled our evenings as if we’re a pair of rowdy teens, I’m surprised—and grateful—to learn we aren’t being regulated during the day.
Jo leaves in the early hours for work and, aside from the few days George and I sneak off to fish, I tag along like a lost duckling—which I guess I am.
This morning is no different from the last week’s worth, except Jo somehow seems more sympathetic to my plight.
Today, she is dutifully working on a dress that is the exact same shade of yellow as a grilled cheese sandwich, and I oscillate between reading books and wandering aimlessly around the shop.
I’m on my second left-turn lap of the front room when I trip over a box that is sticking out just slightly from the bottom shelf and crash to my knees.
“Brother Tucker, John, and Fred!” I grumble, sitting back on my heels, massaging my wrists and waiting for my kneecaps to either quit screaming in pain, or fuck right off and leave for this neglectful treatment.
Jo calls out for me, but I fail to answer as I notice the contents of the now open, trip-inducing box.
“Blaze? Can you hear me? Are you well? Why have you got those?” She’s standing beside me now, looking over my shoulder at the red shoes in my hands.
I grin like a fool and shift from my sore knees to my ass on the modiste floor.
“This is not going to make a damn bit of sense to you, but I’m going to put these ruby slippers on my big ass feet and if we’re both lucky, they’ll take me straight to Kansas.
” I start cramming my socked dogs into the heels before Jo can even protest otherwise.
I must have gotten lucky because whoever these shoes were for has decently large feet, so they only hurt just shy of a lot, but I’m actually able to wear them… kind of.
As soon as the calloused and wool-clad heel of my foot snaps down into the incredibly narrow second shoe, I spring up, grabbing the wall for support.
Obviously I wore my mom’s heels around the house when I was a kid, but it’s been a few years since I’ve done that and I forgot how damn hard it is to stand in these fuckers.
“Blaze, for heaven’s sake, you’re going to hurt yourself and destroy those shoes!” Jo whines. She’s not wrong, I’m most definitely going to do both of those things, but hopefully not before I can do this.
I not-quite-expertly click my heels together, muttering, “There’s no place like home.”
Nothing happens…at first, but then, true to Jo’s speculations, I roll my ankle and crash back to the floor with a thud-oof-snap! Well, shit. I lift my thigh enough to retrieve the delicate ruby slipper from underneath it and present it to Jo.
“You’d be a lot less mad right now if that had worked, wouldn’t you?” I smile nervously as she takes in the detached heel now swinging by a mere thread.
“Alright. Get up, go make yourself decent. We’re going out,” Jo says, letting out a tired breath. I don’t make her tell me twice. If I can do something to get out of the doghouse, I will.
I’ll admit that when Jo said we were going out, I didn’t think she meant we were going-out, going out. Alas, here we are, sitting across from one another at a small table inside a dreadfully crowded tea shop.
“Is this my punishment for the shoes?” I lean towards her and whisper-whine, grumbling further when my cufflinks catch the table’s edge.
“No, not entirely. Though I must admit that watching you squirm is making me feel better about your wrongdoing.” Jo smiles a little too genuinely regarding my pain.
Vicious woman.
She eyes the people around us for anyone who may be listening, and whispers, “We’re here at my mother’s suggestion. Since we’re betrothed, it would make sense for us to be seen about the ton together. This spot is both popular and close to the modiste.”
“Ah, a date then.” I clear my throat and fidget with my cufflinks after once again snagging them. “Should I make it more convincing then?” I waggle my eyebrows, and her face pales.
“You should absolutely not do anything you think would make this meeting more convincing!” Jo hisses, then mutters something under her breath that I would bet money is an insult of some variety.
“Well then, what should I do while we sit here? Just…drink tea?” I pluck my teacup off the table and, after a hesitant sip to ensure I don’t scald myself, I down the offending liquid in one gulp.
When I glance back at Jo, I can’t tell if she’s impressed or wants to beat me.
I set the cup down on the table, and the bird-like sound that comes out of Jo clarifies she is not even a little impressed.
“Saucer, Lynyrd, saucer!” she scolds, reaching over to right my wrong. “The future is sure to be teeming with imbeciles!”
“My bad, my bad! We don’t really drink a lot of tea in America, give me a break, I’m learning!
Now, if it was coffee…” I raise my hands in surrender, the damned metal on my cuffs clashing against wood for the sixth time since we sat down, and zip my lips when I see the impassive expression Jo now wears.
Mom always told me, ‘When a woman gets quiet, shut the fuck up’.
“Well, in the interest of protecting the rest of my footwear, perhaps we can come up with a few ways we may pursue to get you back home—ones that make a little more sense, maybe?”
I nod, maybe too enthusiastically, not breaking eye contact while I slip the cufflinks from my wrists and deftly roll my sleeves up my forearms.
Jo looks at my arms and slaps a palm to her forehead. “It’s like having tea with a toddler,” she mumbles.