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Tommy steps away from me and does something with his phone. I think he’s probably dealing with work, and I admire the dress in the mirror for one more moment before preparing to take it off.
The next thing I know, though, music fills the air, an old song, something romantic and slow from the old days of Hollywood. I don’t know the song or the singer, but her voice seems to shimmer in the air as she begins to sing about love.
I look around and find Tommy with his arm outstretched toward me, a mysterious look on his face. I take his hand, wondering, and he pulls me close, keeping hold of my fingers while slipping his other arm around my waist. He begins to sway and I move with him, in time to the music, gently stepping in slow circles around the room.
We don’t speak, I only look up at him, at the mysterious look in his eyes, the crooked expression that curves one side of his lips just a little. He leans down and kisses me on the lips, gently and slowly, not at all like his fiery, deep kisses that I’m becoming used to.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, and I feel a fist take hold of my heart, squeezing it almost painfully. Tommy’s manner, the softness of that kiss, somehow prompts me to lean my head closer, to put it down on his chest and rest there, nothing else existing but the music and the sway of our bodies together.
At last, the song comes to an end. With regret, I pull back, and Tommy releases me before stopping the next song from playing on his phone. A strange sense of calm has settled over me, and I realize that I’m no longer afraid of being here. Of being Tommy’s captive. It doesn’t feel that way anymore. I think I could go, and he would let me. But I don’t want to try.
“You haven’t tried any of your jewelry,” he says, leading me over to the boxes piled on one side of the racks. “You should.”
I giggle a little, what else can I do? I’ve never had this kind of show of wealth before. The things boxed up for me here – I could sell every single piece of jewelry I own and still, I wouldn’t be able to afford one-tenth of one item. Tommy takes off the lids and shows me diamond and pearl earrings, necklaces set with pear-shaped drops, bracelets with charms hanging from them, or woven strands of silver laden with diamonds.
“They’re all so beautiful,” I say, shaking my head in wonder. How could I dare wear any of these? What if they broke, or got lost?
“Then they are a good match.” Tommy seems to hesitate a second, and then reaches into his pocket and draws out another box, one I haven’t seen before. The boxes by the rack are all blue, new, and fresh-looking with perfect edges, but this one is different. The box is white and the corners are damaged, as if it’s been around for a long time. He opens it and shows me a necklace, not as flashy as all of the others. “What do you think?” he asks.
I reach out and touch it, a silver chain, extremely fine, holding an Art Deco style arrangement of silvery-black stones surrounding a black square. In contrast to the sparkling newness of the diamonds, this necklace looks old, weathered, as if it’s been through a few things.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say softly. “Can I put it on?” Somehow, this necklace seems more appealing than all of the rest. I can’t put my finger on it. For some reason, I want to wear this more than I want to wear anything else.
With a quirk of his lips that I can’t interpret, Tommy steps behind me and turns me to the mirror again, so I can watch as he clasps it around my neck. The intricate design sits against the notch between my collarbones, and it feels like it fits just so.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, thinking that it must surely be vintage.
“It was my mother’s,” Tommy says, watching me in the mirror. His eyes are dark, taking me in. “And her mother’s before that.”
The words hit me like a jolt. This isn’t just a case of Tommy splashing his cash around. This is an heirloom, something special. Something that you would only give to someone you intended to have around for a long time.
“Is it really okay for me to wear it?” I ask, my hand flying up to touch it, wondering if I should take it off to avoid any risk of it getting damaged.
“Yes,” Tommy says, swallowing, though he doesn’t say anything else. I watch the dip of his Adam’s apple and nod. He breaks the spell abruptly, looking away, moving towards the other clothes on the rack as if to choose another outfit.
