20. Zela
Iknew I needed to get a dress, but I kept putting it off. I’d been busy with school, the fights, and wasting time searching for somewhere else to live.
Having a car would definitely help, because public transport, while convenient before, doesn’t exactly help me run a tight schedule.
If only I knew anything about cars. I wonder if Reed would help me with that.
Shit, I shouldn’t ask him. He shouldn’t even be an option, but more and more often, I find myself defaulting to him.
I trail after Isaac as he makes his way into this, no doubt, the best money-can-buy dress shop. I’m still not convinced this will be a ‘gift,’ but I don’t have much choice, and we're already here.
And I can think of worse DuPonts to owe a debt to.
Speaking of Jace, I’d really expected Isaac to be upset that I stabbed his brother. I’m not at all surprised he knows about it, though; I bet they tell each other when they last shit and came and all that.
One fucking brain cell shared between the three of them, though maybe Jace doesn’t get it.
“Mr. DuPont.” The formal greeting has me looking up to find a woman, maybe in her late twenties, early thirties, standing at the counter, not even attempting to hide the obvious shock on her face.
“Just Isaac,” he tells her, waving her off without so much as giving her a second look. “We need a room, nobody else while we're here, and I want all of your best black dresses with a high slit and low cut, but still tasteful.”
I stand just inside the door watching as she scrambles toward us, flipping the lock on the door as she not-so-subtly adjusts her ample cleavage and fluffs her hair before looking me from head to toe, not even trying to hide the disdain on her face.
“What size, Isaac?” She tongue-fucks his name, and I roll my eyes because, yeah, ask him.
Bitch.
Isaac looks back at me, his gaze moving over me, and while the sales associate did the same a moment ago, it doesn’t feel the same.
“Let’s go with two, maybe a few zeros, just to see how they differ.” He sounds so sure of himself, and I flip him the bird when he turns around, making the woman's eyes go wide.
I mean, it’s not like I know what size dress I wear, considering I can’t remember the last time I owned one, but still.
“Ar–are you sure?” It looks like it physically pains this lady to question him, and when Isaac stops in his tracks and whips around, I can see why.
“Get the dresses, or you can leave, and I’ll find someone who can do your job.”
Oh, well.
“Of course, I’m sorry, sir.” She scrambles away, and I don’t even try to bite back my chuckle as I follow Isaac toward the back of the store.
He disappears through a door, and I follow him only to find us in a hallway with three doors spaced evenly down the hall on each side.
Isaac doesn’t hesitate to walk into the first door, and I stop in the doorway to look around first, unwilling to trust him more than I already have.
“Damn.”
It’s a changing room, or at least I think it is; it’s not like one I’ve ever seen.
There are mirrors just about everywhere, a curtain hanging from the ceiling for privacy, and a chair near the door that Isaac drops into.
“Um, no,” I say, moving into the room. “You can sit out there.” I point to the hallway and nearly hit the sales lady, who chooses that moment to round the corner with an arm full of black dresses.
I don’t get the chance to move before I’m being moved. Isaac’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and he tugs me toward him, right between his legs, and out of the way a moment before she would have plowed me over.
To her credit, I don’t think this was an attempt to actually do any real damage; she simply piled her arms too high.
Isaac either doesn’t see it that way or doesn’t give a damn.
“Watch where you're going!” he booms, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist, holding me in place, his gaze locked on mine, holding me captive.
“I’m sorry, sir. I meant no harm. I didn’t see her.” Even without looking, I hear the disgust in her voice when she refers to me.
Green isn’t a good color, especially considering whatever I’m sure she’s picturing is nowhere near the truth.
“You will do well to remember who you're speaking to.” Isaac stands, using his hold on my wrist to spin me around so that my back is pressed to his chest. “Apologize to my sister.”
Her eyes go wide, and I watch her swallow hard.
Is it because I’m a DuPont or because of the way he’s holding me?
Does it matter?
“I’m so sorry, Miss. I meant no harm.” Her eyes cast down to the floor, and she scurries out of the room, closing the door behind her.
The sound of the lock engaging snaps me back to reality, and I move away from Isaac as if his touch burns, spinning to face him.
His hold on my wrist remains for a moment before he lets it drop, and I see his jaw clench.
“What the fuck was that?” I gesture at the now locked door and try to swallow down my panic.
I don’t like being locked in places if I’m not the one in control of the lock. I like it even less trapped with a DuPont!
“You’re a DuPont. You need to represent the name, and letting some no-name sales clerk with a bad boob job talk to you like she’s better than you isn’t acceptable, Zela.”
His voice is hard, but it doesn't rise; the way he says my name gives me goosebumps.
“Whatever.” I toss my hands up and turn toward the curtain and the obscene amount of dresses, no longer willing to waste my time arguing with him to leave. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I want to see each dress,” Isaac calls as I pull the curtain closed. I bite my tongue against telling him where he can shove that want.
It’s just a fucking dress; you can do this, Zela!
I don’t even sound convincing in my mind, but I push away my annoyance to deal with later, when I’m not about to strip down in a locked room with my stepbrother.
Now I know why I don’t own a dress.
How can one little slip of fabric be so damn annoying?
Holes, straps, slits, buttons, zippers, sheer materials, and built-in bras—a fucking nightmare.
“If you plan to dig an escape tunnel, know that this wall leads to the store next door, not outside.” I hear the amusement in Isaac’s voice, and I huff in annoyance.
Asshole.
“If I were to dig my way out, anywhere would do to be away from you,” I snap back before groaning in frustration.
“Do you need help?”
I finally manage to pull the dress over my head and start to get it sorted when he asks, and I roll my eyes.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to get fucked, but I snap my mouth closed before I can because, of course, this dress has a zipper, and not just any zipper but one that goes down, damn near to my ass.
Every dress is black, which is about the only thing I feel grateful for. This one is long, almost to the point where I’d need heels so it doesn’t drag, but not the kind that would break my neck, another point.
It’s not even zipped up yet, but I can tell it’s going to hug me like a second skin. The top is kind of like a corset minus the ties, and despite having no real boobs to speak of, I somehow have a little bit of cleavage.
Huh, that’s new, but I don’t hate it. I wonder how it will look zipped.
The straps are thin spaghetti straps, and the fabric of the whole dress is almost sheer, bordering on see-through.
Holy shit!
For a second, I worry I’d ripped the dress, but nope, I think that was done on purpose. A slit runs up my leg, high enough that it’s almost inappropriate.
I’ll need to take extra care to cover any bruises because this thing doesn’t hide shit.
I manage to get the zipper about halfway up before I groan in annoyance and fling the curtain open. I refuse to waste more time over a stupid zipper.
Isaac sits in the chair right where I left him, one leg folded so that his ankle rests on his knee. His phone in his hand, probably doomscrolling to pass the time, before his eyes flick up to me.
There’s no mirror inside the curtain, but most of this room is covered in them. Even still, I haven’t seen myself in the dress I just fought tooth and nail to get on.
Judging by the way Isaac’s gaze drags up my body like a physical caress, I’d say it’s not ugly, though. I stop dead, trapped in his gaze, and when his eyes finally find their way to mine, my breath catches, seeing the way his eyes devour me, his pupils blown wide.
Neither of us moves, unwilling or unable to break the hold in the moment before I finally manage to get ahold of myself again.
DuPont men are bad news, Zela.
I know this, but it would seem my pussy can’t get past the handsome bad boy thing.
“The zipper.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder before I turn and, despite my better judgment, give him my back.
It wasn’t a question, but thankfully it didn’t need to be.
Isaac gets the hint, or at least I hope he does. I hear him stand as I fight to keep control of myself.
Isaac will be my stepbrother for real in just over a week.
He’s dangerous.
He’s just going to do the zipper on the dress, nothing more.
So why can’t I breathe?
Why is the room suddenly so hot?
Why do I wish this weren’t the case?
I feel him behind me, and try as I might, I can’t stop my breathing from coming in sharp, near pants under his gaze as I smooth down the dress, my palms sweaty from nerves I haven’t felt since I was a kid.
His hands move with precision, gliding the zipper up with so little effort that it’s nearly comical given how much I struggled.
It takes less than five seconds, and it’s done, yet he remains where he is, and after what feels like an eternity, I can’t resist his pull any longer.
Glancing up, I find his gaze in the reflection as if he’s drawn to me, as if he were simply waiting for me all this time.
His hand comes up to rest on my arm, the pad of his finger slowly moving up toward my shoulder, leaving goosebumps in its wake as he moves the strap I hadn’t noticed fall back into place.
I watch, unable to look away as he rolls his lips in, his tongue poking out to lick them before he leans in impossibly closer.
“This one will do.”
The shrill ring of his phone makes me jump and sends my heart hammering hard enough that I fear it will burst out of my chest.
I move away one step and then another before I turn around to face him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
His eyes are still fixed on me even as he listens, and I don’t need to ask to know it’s Kolson on the other end. His voice is like a bucket of ice water as I move back toward the curtain, needing a moment or five to collect myself.
“Of course she did,” Isaac assures him, though I’m not sure what the question was since I wasn’t actually trying to eavesdrop.
Maybe I should be, though.
“If you wanted to see, you should have taken her.” I hear the bitter intensity of Isaac’s response, but I don’t dare look back, even if I can’t help the little thrill his words give me.
I retreat behind the curtain and manage to get the dress off without help. Thankfully, it’s much easier to undo the zipper than it was to do it, and honestly, I just pulled the dress down, and it unzipped itself, so there's that.
Isaac is on the phone still after I’ve dressed, though you wouldn’t know if you didn’t really listen.
He doesn’t say much, a grunt or hum of agreement.
A scoff here and there are about the most Kolson seems to get before he eventually hangs up.
I’m not even sure if they were done talking or if Isaac simply had enough of him.
I hope it was the latter. The idea of Isaac hanging up on him… His face would be priceless.
Isaac cocks a brow at me as I exit the curtained area, and I shake my head, dropping my smile, and to my surprise, he not only lets it go but reaches out and takes the dress from me.
I want to fight him, but honestly, the dress is so nice that I really don’t want to mess it up.
Leave it to me to trip over it or ruin it somehow before we even get home.
No, despite not wanting him to buy my dress, I really needed something nice for the wedding, and this is much better than I could ever have afforded.
We move back through the shop and right out the front door, leaving a pouting sales clerk behind us and me very confused.
“Um, I know you guys are used to getting everything you want, but you do have to pay, you know,” I tell him as we walk back to his car, and my panic climbs.
She’s going to call the fucking cops…
Isaac laughs, like an honest-to-God laugh, and I stop dead in my tracks as he tucks my dress into the back seat and swings the door closed again.
Holy shit.
Isaac is adorable. Not that you would ever know it with his grumpy face, but with a smile… and his laugh is musical.
“Mother shops here often. Our card is on file,” he says, a smile still on his lips as he waves off my concern and gets in the car.
It takes me a second to register what he just said through the shock, but when I do, I feel like I can breathe again. I also realize I need to move, or he might very well leave me here.
I scramble into the car as he turns the key, and it rumbles to life. Reaching for my belt, I damn near hit the roof when I turn to find him entirely too close.
“It’s a shame you hide yourself under so much,” he says, picking up a strand of my long brown hair and twirling it around his finger, seemingly examining it. “I mean, I get it, but still.”
He doesn’t; even if he knows about why I go missing on Saturdays, he doesn’t know why I do it.
Only two people besides me know: the one who did it and the one who taught me to be strong enough so it never happens again.
“If you need your hair or nails done for the event, I could always take you,” he offers, and I pull a face at even the thought of having my nails done.
I’m sure that would make fighting harder. Though if it ever came down to a back-alley fight, that might help.
I’m not above clawing someone's eye out if need be.
“I bet a bit of orange would look good.”
Ah, that makes more sense, asshole.
“I hate orange.”
He barks a laugh, and while this one is a little harsher, it still makes my heart race. I clench my fists, digging my nails into the meaty part of my palm in hopes of snapping myself out of it.
“Try not to get all bruised up before the wedding, huh, sis?” he says as he throws the car in reverse. I reach for my headphones, more than done with his teasing, only to find they aren’t there.
“What the fuck?” I look around, but there aren’t many places they could have gone. The car is clean, and I highly doubt anyone broke in for those old things.
Isaac doesn’t comment, doesn’t ask what, just simply flicks the radio on and hands me a cord. I can’t prove it, but I’d bet he had something to do with their disappearance.
Having brothers is literally one of the worst things to ever happen to me.