Chapter 5 #2
Someone should have warned this girl not to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.
It’s a cute nose, though. Everything about her is perfect, from her long legs to her slim hips and her eccentric hairstyles.
Yesterday, she had an afro like she was a woman from the seventies, and I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life.
I was mesmerized watching her ass bounce in her tight jeans and crop top.
She was nothing but legs, glistening brown skin, and confidence. The confidence is my favorite part. I made a point of walking close enough to almost collide with her. I dodge her at the last second.
“Careful,” I warn. She pretends to trip and rests her hand on my chest. I wrap my hand around her wrist and keep it there. “You touch it, you buy it.”
“Excuse me?” I almost laugh at the faux outrage in her voice. She’s beautiful, but she’s no actress.
“Touch me again, and I’m yours.”
“In your dreams.” I drop her wrist, and she walks away. I watch her hips move from side to side. My body took hours to calm down after that.
I park my unassuming black Honda Civic in the back of her apartment complex. A complex that I own, but it’s tied up in one of my LLCs so deep it would be damn near impossible to find out that I’m behind it.
I use the code, let myself in through the back door, and walk up the two flights to her apartment. I unlock it with my master key. I’ve never needed to use it before, but now I’m glad I have it.
All her lights are off, and the blinds are closed, but the place is neat.
She’s a minimalist. There’s a couch and a flat screen television.
I approach and look down at the magazines on her coffee table.
All of them are bridal, but she’s not engaged.
She has no man in her life. I know that for a fact because it was the first thing I checked.
Not that it would matter if she had one.
I’d simply get rid of him because I get whatever I go after, and she will be no exception.
Her kitchen is small, with a round table and two chairs. I open her fridge, and there’s nothing but bottled water. The only thing in her freezer is a peanut butter cup, which I eat. Other than that, it’s bare, and I wonder what the hell she eats.
There’s nothing in her living room that tells me much about her, other than those magazines, and even that’s a mystery. One I will solve soon.
The next door I open is a small bathroom. It’s spotless. I pull back the blue shower curtain and smell her body wash. Her tub is wet, and I imagine that long, lithe body naked in here.
This unit has two bedrooms. I remember her father begging me to give her a bigger apartment, and because he’s been a good asset, I agreed.
I should have looked up his daughter myself.
If I had, things would have been different, but I was focused on work, not a relationship—my mistake.
I won’t let her slip through my fingers this time.
Her bedroom is small, and other than her bed being unmade, it’s neat. I open her drawers, take one of her panties, and slide it into my pocket.
“You devious little thing,” I whisper when I see a collage of pictures of myself on her wall.
I didn’t even know she'd taken these, but there are random shots of me walking through town. There’s even one of me taking groceries out of my car the day she followed me to my mother’s house.
“What on earth am I going to do with you, Bella? Maybe I underestimated you.”
I shake my head and wonder why she made the smaller room her bedroom, and I find my answer when I open the other door.
There’s a sewing machine in the middle of the room. I don’t know much about such things, but it looks old, sturdy, and well-made. There are shelves full of material, all different shades of white. I run my hand along one.
“Oh,” I say when I notice the wedding dress on a mannequin.
It’s not finished and held together by pins, but it’s beautiful.
It’s a white, lacy dress with pearls throughout.
Careful not to disturb it, I don’t touch it, but I admire it from a distance.
It’s so beautiful that I take out my phone and snap pictures of it.
“So, that’s why you have these bridal magazines.
” I notice a notebook on her table that holds the sewing machine.
When I open it, I realize it’s a sketchbook filled with wedding dresses, which I assume she drew.
I don’t know a thing about fashion or dresses, but I know they’re each unique and beautiful.
Even more intrigued, I open the walk-in closet only to find more fabric, this time in color.
There are three more mannequins in there.
One with a green two-piece outfit with a long skirt and a corset top.
There are two more wedding dresses on the other mannequins, but unlike the one out there, these are finished.
There’s one with a V-neck, all lace, with a long skirt that floats behind the dress. The dress is backless and dips to the top of the mannequin’s ass. I run my hand along it, impressed that she was able to create this. Assuming she did.
That’s when my eye catches a floral duffel bag with a big red bow on it. I open it, and find a Christmas card, and read it out loud.
“To my beautiful Cori. No one is more blessed than I to have a daughter like you. I want you to know how much I love and believe in you. Not only are you beautiful, sweet, and kind, but you’re also incredibly talented.
I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for you to get here, but it’s time, baby girl.
Love, Mommy.” There’s a lip print on it.
I search through the bag and find business cards. They are designed like a wedding invitation. The insignia is a silhouette of a bride in a long wedding dress.
It has her name and a website, so I pull out my phone and search the site.
Corine’s Creations. There are videos of her sewing and talking about her work. There are dozens of dresses on her site, including mother-of-the-bride and bridesmaid gowns.
I set the phone down and look around for those gowns. I walk to the back of the closet and find a rack of dresses. I look through them, touch each one as if they would bring me closer to her.
“Beautiful and talented indeed. I don’t know about sweet, though,” I tsk. “Definitely nosy.”
I pick up the phone and scroll down. There’s a blinking button that says click me, so I do. I nearly drop my phone when I see it.
It’s her in the backless wedding dress with the V-neck. My mouth goes dry when I see her like this. She spins around in it, turns her head, and winks. The dress molds to her body, and I wonder if this is her idea of her perfect wedding dress. Did she make this for her when she designed it?
I find pictures of her friend and cousin modeling other dresses, but I don’t bother looking at them. I’m not interested in them. I return to her. There’s another video; this time, she’s in a veil. She lifts it, purses her lips, and says, ‘I do’ before blowing a kiss at the camera.
I freeze when I see that, and the idea that was planted in my head the day she jumped into my arms takes root.
It was just a thought before. A simple fantasy that I didn’t know how to implement, but I had no idea how to run this business when it became my responsibility.
Not only did I make that work, but I made it an enterprise all while living in plain sight. I can do this, too.
You might, but you’ll have to deal with a very angry woman.
After everything I’ve been through and built, an angry woman is kids’ stuff.
I run back the video of her in the dress, and when she says I do, I know our fates are sealed.
“Yeah, you definitely will.” I lick my lips at the sight of her plump, cherry-red mouth.
I click the button that says ‘Shop with Me.’ There are a few wedding gowns and several bridesmaid dresses on sale, but the one she modeled is not available, and I wonder why.
I put my phone back in my pocket and leave, knowing full well that I’ll be back.