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I try to hide the tiny bit of hurt at the fact that he stopped kissing me.
But he’s right. I don’t want to be late for my first day.
And besides, the longer we spend making out, the more in danger I am of spilling the beans.
I woke up this morning remembering everything.
At least, I’m 99 percent sure I remember everything.
I slept like an angel after that horny phone sex session with Shep.
When I woke up, everything became clear.
Shep was right. I had walked out of the compound late Thursday night, or early Friday morning, after a pretty shocking scare.
Nobody had hurt me, at least not physically.
What came back to me was in flashes and emotions, but I pieced it all together.
An engagement was arranged by my uncle on my nineteenth birthday, to a man who seemed pleasant enough but did not love me. On Thursday night, the women in the compound had thrown me a personal shower/bachelorette sleepover — that’s where I’d gotten the pink frilly nightie. Somebody had procured some forbidden champagne for the party. It had made me tipsy. I was going to sneak over to my fiancé’s house in the middle of the night. I wore the nightie to surprise him, to compel him to love me. I didn’t want to wait until our wedding night to know what sex was like. I wanted him to help me lose my virginity before the wedding. I just wanted to know. I was curious. And I was tired of all the damn rules.
And then everything backfired.
I locked all those unpleasant details up when I heard someone making breakfast in the kitchen this morning at Levi’s house.
I had been all set to tell Shep the entire story, but he looked so pleased with himself, presenting me with eggs and bacon and leftover waffles.
But I could not ruin the moment with my drama.
We are together; that’s all that matters. I hope.
I put on jeans for the first time. A borrowed pair of old jeans from Cherie, but still. They fit me perfectly and feel amazing. I finish it off with the Cortex tee-shirt Shep gives me—proud Levi has a stack of them in his closet.
“Well now I understand what all the fuss over jeans and tee-shirts is about. It feels good!” I say to Shep as we make our way to his car.
“You’ve never worn jeans before?” he asks, when we pull out onto the freeway.
“The women where I live aren’t allowed to wear pants,” I say.
He takes my hand as we drive, and it feels like we’ve been married for a century and are still in love.
Love. Is that what I’m feeling?
Better not to ask. Whatever is happening right now, I like it. And I want to enjoy it.
I’ve enjoyed so little when it comes to men, I want to hold on to this stage of…whatever this is.
“So you remember not being allowed to wear jeans. What else weren’t you allowed to do?”
“I’m afraid if I tell you, it might scare you away,” I say.
He parks his car behind Cortex and turns to me. “Listen, Jane. I care about what happened to you, but not so much that it’s going to take away from what I feel for you. I’m crazy about you. I’m falling…no, I’ve already fallen for you. You make me feel like I’m not just a spoiled, vain kid with an expensive hobby. You believe in me. And I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”
I look down in my lap. “I don’t know what’s so brave about wandering into a coffee shop and asking for help.”
Shep rests his forehead against mine. “Sometimes asking for help is the bravest thing you can do.”
I suck in my breath because I know what this is. This is love.
