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A monster and murderer who had your dress fixed for you.
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. It’s one thing for him to let me buy clothes for my stay here. I needed them. But having this one fixed, as if he cared that it was important to me… After that first night, I had assumed he’d thrown it in the trash.
Before I can decide how I feel about it, his knock on my door interrupts my thoughts. I hang the dress up again. My plans of dressing up are cut short, and I head to dinner at his side.
In his room, we settle into our usual seats across from each other, crisp salads and warm plates of seared steak waiting for us.
“How was your day?” I ask him.
“What do you want?” he replies, instantly.
My hope deflates like a balloon. Four syllables. Four syllables and he knew that I was angling something. I’m too shocked to be angry.
“I can’t just ask you how your day was?”
“You never have before,” he says, studying me over our salads.
That doesn’t seem possible, but I realize he’s right. I’ve asked Salvatore so little, always assuming he wouldn’t tell me or that I simply wouldn’t care to hear it. I’ve spent the past couple days trying to observe him, but never actively getting to know him.
“Well, I’m asking now,” I insist.
He studies me for another moment, but then allows it with a slight nod.
“It was fine.”
An awkward beat passes. I hide my mouth behind my hand, but the laughter comes on regardless. I giggle helplessly over my dinner as Salvatore sits and judges me. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed in front of him before.
“Are you sure you can tell me that? I mean, that’s pretty high up there on the security clearance. I can see why you were so reluctant to share something so deeply personal.”
Salvatore sighs. “You’re a brat,” he accuses. It only makes the laughter worse. When I’ve regained my composure, he adds, “You’re in a good mood.”
“I had real sunlight for the first time in—what, two weeks? Of course I’m in a good mood. I’m practically euphoric. Vitamin D and serotonin high. I had a good day,” I tell him proudly. I don’t think I’ve ever been this chatty with him, but now that I’ve started, it’s hard to stop.
“Tell me about it.”
“That’s not fair,” I counter, poking my fork toward him, “You didn’t tell me about yours.”
“You’ve seen what my days are like. I’m sure you’ve already heard enough of that.”
Not yet. I’m sure just being a fly on the wall to Salvatore puppeteering his empire will get old eventually, but it’s still new enough that my curiosity overrides my boredom. After being stuck in a single room, following Salvatore around in his day to day may as well be Disneyland.
I decide to let him get away with his non-answers and change the subject.
“I found my dress in the wardrobe,” I say, though it feels almost taboo to mention it. “I didn’t know you had it fixed.”
“How does it look?”
“Perfect. Like new.”
He nods, as if the only thing that matters is that it was well done, explaining nothing. My curiosity burns, both desperate to know the truth and terrified to learn it.
“Why did you have it fixed?” I finally make myself ask.
“Do you not want it?”
“I didn’t say that. Are you allergic to honest answers?”
“On the contrary. I’ve never lied to you.”
