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“Please don’t make me look like a clown,” I whisper, eyeing the magenta palette.
She blinks. “What’s that?”
“A really silly looking person.”
“I promise not to make you look like a clown, but if the color scares you, we can go more subtle.”
“That would be nice.”
She grins. “Close your eyes and let me work.”
* * *
Oretta backed off some,switching from a vibrant pink to subtle shades that complement my green eyes and the kohl lining them. I check myself over once more, finally having the room to myself, and smile despite the lack of oxygen. It may not be my style, but I definitely look like a princess. The makeup is my favorite part. That and the fact that I don’t have to wear heels. The dress is long enough to cover my feet and the simple sandals Zyla gave me, while well worn, are comfortable.
I still don’t see myself running from a cyclops, but I’m hoping Orcus will save me in the event of any cyclops encounters. My heart jumps into my throat at the thought of yet another run in.
Who knew I’d develop a cyclops-phobia?
Orcus knocks as he enters the room. The ogre version of a tux is a nice, blue, silk shirt and black pants. He’s barefoot, but not even those big green toes can ruin the hot monster vibe he has going on. His black strands are artfully swept back and the corners of his mouth kick up into a devastating smirk.
A soft caress strokes down the bond and my feet carry me toward him without me telling them to.
“Orcus,” I warn.
“Little flower,” he whispers back. “Forgive me, you were taking too long to come to me.”
I roll my eyes and take over walking, trying to be as casual as possible with the corset. “You look hot.”
“What is this dress?” he asks.
“It’sfashion, Orcus. Look it up.”
His eyebrows draw down and he gives me a once over. “Well…” He trails off and frowns. “I hate it.”
“Oh thank god. Can I change?”
“You want to change? I thought it wasfashion.” The way his mouth shapes around the word is hilarious.
“It is, and I also hate it, but your family was being so nice.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I know, I know. The thing is, I was speaking up, but then I realized there were forty dresses that were all generally the same and they were all custom made for me. I couldn’t say no”—I pause to take a shallow breath. Maybe this is why they made corsets, to keep women from talking. I take another sip of air before finishing—“so I said yes to the dress.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
I think I’m dying. I don’t tell him that because he’d freak out and go all protector on me. I rest my hand on his thigh and place the other on my stomach. “Take. It. Off.”
“We don’t have time for sex—”
“TAKE IT OFF!”
Orcus’ fingers slip between the corset and my skin, grabbing hold of the strings and giving one hard tug. The string gives out under his strength. As soon as the corset is off, I drink in oxygen like a little kid drinking a red Slurpee with no worries about what red dye number 40 might do to their body.
“Dammit, Daisy.”
“Don’t you. Dammit. Me.” I glare up at Orcus and take another breath. “I’m dammiting myself enough for the both of us.”
