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She nodded. “Interesting name. It fits you. I am Natasha.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I said.
She quirked a brow, and I smiled. It was true. I wasn’t exactly pleased, but for some reason, I wasn’t displeased either. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“I think you don’t want to dress like that,” she said, indicating my cobbled-together outfit.
“No.” I shook my head. “No I don’t.”
“We’ll find something that you like then. Him too,” she said mischievously, looking at me with an expression that dared me to contradict her implication.
I clenched my mouth shut, and she must have picked up on the change for she smiled a bit brighter.
“You don’t want him?”
I looked away from her piercing blue gaze, choosing to ignore the question. I didn’t know what I felt. He scared the crap out of me, but he’d been kind to me. And I couldn’t deny his physical appeal.
“It’s okay. It’s just us girls,” she whispered as if she was trying to coax secrets from me.
“You talk this way about your husband with other women?” I said, expressing the realization that had just occurred to me.
Then I closed my mouth again quickly, cursing myself for having spoken out of turn.
But Natasha simply laughed, her small frame moving with the sound. “You think he…? That Vasile is my husband?” she asked.
I nodded faintly, which triggered another wave of laughter.
“No. He is not mine or anyone else’s. Never will be.”
I told myself that the relief that filled me was simply because I had spared her the insult of what could only be the reasonable conclusion of me leaving his home dressed in his clothes. It was simply that and nothing else.
The conversation was mercifully cut short when the limo pulled to a stop.
“We’re here,” she said, stepping out of the car. I followed suit, but felt clumsy and unwieldy next to her.
She walked toward a small boutique, and I watched as an older woman opened the door and ushered us in.
When we entered, I looked around the place, one of those fancy stores that seemed mostly empty. And when I glanced at the clothes that hung on the racks, embarrassment slithered up my spine.
“Natasha.” She turned, eying me patiently. “This stuff won’t fit me,” I said.
She looked me up and down, letting her gaze caress my body. “I’ll handle it. Eat,” she said, gesturing toward the platter of fruit, crackers, and cheese that was laid out on a nearby table.
My stomach rumbled, but the embarrassment fled in the face of suddenly ravenous hunger. It had been nearly more than a day since my last meal. I headed for the table.
EIGHT
Fawn
“No, Natasha,” I said.
At the sight of her pouty expression, I almost giggled, but managed to hold firm. She held the chiffon negligee in front of her as if doing so would convince me.
“You have the assets for it,” she said, lowering her gaze to linger on my breasts and hips. “You could seduce any man in this.” She added a hilarious waggle of her eyebrows to the end of the sentence.
“I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” I said.
“Of course you are. It’s the way we survive,” she said turning solemn, and while I didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was truth in what she said.
