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I retrieve the floral covered book from the end table. I can’t really call it a diary. It’s more like a list of manifestations and self-improvement goals. Sitting on the bed, I open the cover to the first page and read what I’ve written so far:
I will be strong and confront my fears.
I will let the past go.
I will believe I deserve happiness.
I will only say “I’m fine” when I truly am.
I pick up the pen and after several minutes of thought, decide on a title.Dee’s Personal Aspirations Journey. Then I add two more to the list:
I will be less critical of my body.
I will be bold and confident.
I read the full list. Repeating the words out loud like a mantra, hoping that my psyche will absorb them. With that, I put the book away andwalk back to the closet. I select a dress, the color of midnight. An impulse purchase I made on a night when I’d been home alone, online shopping, and feeling ambitious. The dress has a Bardot neckline that exposes the shoulders and snugly fits from chest to knee. All the reasons why it’s been hanging in my maybe-one-day section for the last six months.
But I think about what attracted me to the dress in the first place. It had been the model. She owned her curves. Staring back at the camera with a hand on one voluptuous hip, a vivacious smile on her lips. Sexy and fearless.
The woman I want to be.
Laying the dress out on the bed, I go shower, shave my legs, and smooth on fragrant lotion. Then tramping down the niggling second thoughts, I wiggle into my undergarments and step into the dress. While the bathroom mirror is not full-length, it’s long enough for me to see all the relevant parts.
Even with the strapless body-shaping slip beneath that’s supposed to smooth and minimize, there’s no disguising my big boobs or round, thick hips. If only I were long and lean like Lexie or athletic like Jordyn. If only…the tapes start playing.
Stop!I give my head a shake, willing the negative noise away.I will be less critical of my body.I repeat that several times again and slap my palms on the vanity, looking sternly into the mirror as if daring my reflection to mess with me.
Okay.Deep breaths. I straighten. I define my curls with a lightweight gel, apply shimmery taupe to my eyelids, dust on bronzer, and finish off the look with a pop of red smudge-proof lipstick. Pleased with my hair and makeup, I exit the bathroom and slide on a pair of black heels, add simple hoops to my ears, and fasten on the stunning diamond necklace from Mick.
At 7:00, the doorbell chimes. I toss a long shawl around me—because insecurity is a dogged beast—and grab my clutch with the ring box inside.
“Mademoiselle Chase,” greets a well-dressed gentleman in his late forties, complete with a cultured French accent. “I’m Bernard, your driver this evening.”
“Nice to meet you, Bernard.”
“Tout le plaisir est pour moi.”
I think in translation it means, it’s his pleasure or something like that, but anything said in French sounds pretty awesome.
“Where are you from?” I ask.
“Belgium.” He cups my elbow and leads me down the stairs to the driveway.
I try not to gawk, and fail. When Mick had said he was sending a car, I hadn’t expected a stretch limousine.
Bernard holds the backdoor open and I slide across the long bench seat. “There is a button on the armrest if you need me for anything.”
“Thank you.”
After a polite nod, he closes the door and I’m engulfed in pure extravagance. Plush warmed seats with massage options and two touch-screen plasma TVs are built into the walls. Subtle blue lighting offers a serene atmosphere and classical strings play from a hidden surround system. On top of the marble bar sits a silver ice bucket with a bottle of wine the color of pale sunshine. Beside it, I find one stemless glass and a small pearlescent card that bears my name in Mick’s fluid handwriting. I lift the flap.
My heart twists and my emotions spin. An apt response, considering the way I’ve felt since Mick stormed back into my life. As though I’ve been hit by a cyclone that has whipped me up in its force and taken me to an alluring and seductive world I’ve never known before.
I twist the crystal stopper out of the bottle and pour myself half a glass. The aromatic notes please my nose and the fresh autumn taste brimming with pears and apples add a crisp, sweet element to my palate. I’m not much of a connoisseur, but I recognize it as delicious.
“Cheers,” I toast myself and sit back and enjoy the ride.
When Bernard turns off theinterstate and pulls into an open field, I peer through the tinted windows. Against the backdrop of a violet sunset waits a white helicopter and Mick.
