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For one second, I wonder if Lucian is somewhere around here. If he’s watching me again. Following me around, waiting to strike. I wish the idea didn’t excite me the way it does. Like I almost hope he’s watching from across the food court as I walk through.
Just my imagination running away. After the past week, who could blame it?
I decide to stop in one of the department stores at the far end of the mall. I like the smell of the perfume counter. It reminds me of shopping trips with Mom when I was a little girl. It always felt so fancy and special, walking past the makeup and perfume and jewelry counters. Everything smelled nice. Everything was shiny. So unlike the rest of my life.
I pass the accessories department and eye a couple of cute bags—mine is worn-out, the strap a little tattered after years of use. I make a mental note to stop by on my way out, then continue to the women’s section.
It’s the weirdest thing. I still can’t shake the feeling that somebody’s watching. Sure, there are security cameras all over the place, but that’s not what I’m feeling. That’s not what makes goose bumps rise over my arms. It isn’t even the sense of employees watching because they think I’ll steal something, which I’ve experienced before.
“Can I help you?”
I jump about a mile when I hear the girl’s voice right next to me. She backs up a step, eyes wide. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay.” I laugh, even if my laugh is a little shaky. “I’m jumpy today, I guess.”
“Can I help you with anything?” She gestures toward the T-shirts I’m holding. “I can take them to a dressing room if you want. Get it ready for you.”
“That would be great, thank you.” I hand them to her and decide to look for jeans. I hate shopping for jeans, but I do need at least one new pair. It’s just such a hassle with every brand being sized differently. Men have it so much easier when it comes to shopping for clothes.
I decide to grab a couple of pairs in different sizes to see which fits better. I’m about to head for the dressing room when a rack full of pretty dresses catches my eye. They come in different colors—purple, blue, pink, black, and white. I don’t have any place special to wear one, but I can’t help wondering how one of them would look on me. I can’t see spending the money on something I might never wear, though, so it’s no use.
This time, when I feel eyes on me, I know it’s the girl who’s been helping. “That would look great on you.” She pulls out a blue dress and holds it up to me, tilting her head to the side. “With your hair and eyes?”
I know it’s her job, and I know she’s trying to make a commission, but I can’t help feeling a little rush of excitement. She’s right; it would look great on me. “I guess I’ll try it on.” I choose one in my size, and she leads me to the dressing room, where she’s already left the shirts I picked up earlier.
The dress I’ll leave for last, like dessert at the end of a meal. The jeans are all sort of a disappointment—the pair that fits my hips and butt best are a little too loose at the waist. I’ll have to find a belt. The T-shirts fit well but are thin, so the lace on my bra shows up. Maybe I’ll look for a couple of smooth T-shirt bras before leaving the store. Better yet, I’ll stop in at the lingerie store a few doors down.
The bottom line is, I have options, and that feels good. Of course, it’s not easy to enjoy shopping when money is tight. But I have a little wiggle room today.
Finally, I try on the dress. It’s not even anything that special. The sort of thing I’d wear to a wedding or someplace like that. But it’s pretty, with tiny crystals around the low neckline, and the fabric swishes around my knees. It’s been a long time since I owned anything nice for no other reason than it makes me feel pretty when I wear it.
I wonder what Lucian would think of it.
I wonder what that says about me.
There’s a three-way mirror outside the door, and I decide to take a look. The salesgirl will probably flatter me to hell and back in hopes of making a sale, but that’s okay. I haven’t been flattered in a long time, either. Sometimes a girl needs that.
My hand is on the knob. I turn it just enough to disengage the lock.
Which is when the door slams open, and I’m shoved against the wall.
