AllFreeNovel
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We get our mani-pedi, then get makeup and hair done, and get out of the salon still escorted by a security officer. This time, however, it’s just for protocol and at Brody’s insistence, just so we don’t get harassed by any overly enthusiastic fans.
At the entrance of the hotel, there’s a myriad of reporters, all waiting for the latest scoop on the ‘case of the stalker’. As we walk through them, Sweets mimics the gesture of the bodyguard and splays a hand forward to fend them off, in the end, trying to protect me too.
“Lily! Lily! Are you afraid any other fan my come at you the same way Ken Horowitz did?” one of the reporters asks, tape recorder at hand.
“I don’t want to answer questions about it, sorry!” I say, apologetic, without halting my pace.
Sweets and I go to our separate rooms, and I don’t have much left to do other than talking with Eric, that is until Brody shows up.
He’s in plain clothes and comes loaded with gift bags. “Uh, which of those are for me?” I ask, curious.
“A third of them,” he says, laying the bags over the desk. “The rest are for Sandra and Eric.”
“There’s gifts for me?” Eric raises his eyes from Legend of Zelda and comes running. “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!”
“Here you go,” Brody hands him three different bags: one from a gaming shop, the other from a sportswear store, and the third from a boutique candy shop I always wanted to go, but never did, because I’m not eight.
“What’s the reason for all these gifts?” I ask as he hands me my share of the bags.
“I like to give gifts when I’m happy,” Brody says, but he doesn’t look happy at all.
He seems nervous as hell, and I grab him by the hand and then his chin with my other hand to force him to look at me. “Brody… What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” he says, with a large smile for me. He kisses me and taps me lightly on the shoulder, dismissing my questions.
I look at my bags. There’s one from a jewelry store, and two from different high fashion designer shops. I take them to the bed to open them, only to hear Eric say, “I used to get a lot of gifts when he divorced mom…”
“Don’t complain, you loved each and every one of them,” Brody says, while removing his shirt one-handed.
He’s no longer wearing his bulletproof vest, and that’s a relief, but now I can’t stop thinking that he has bad news to deliver.
“Brody?” I call for his attention. “Please tell me whatever you’re hiding from me?”
Still looking nervous, he shakes his head and smirks, keeping himself mysterious enough to drive me crazy.
“I said I got nothing,” he says, his voice calm, clashing with his body language.
“I’m good at reading you, Brody…” I say, as a warning, but he’s unmoved.
“Open up your gifts,” he orders me without looking me in the eye, just waving a hand in my direction as he sets aside his suit for after his shower. “I want you to wear them tonight.”
Now I’m genuinely interested. I start with the jewelry bag, and inside lies a large velvet box containing a full set, complete with diamond earrings, a diamond necklace, and a diamond studded tiara,
“Brody, I can’t wear this! It’s too much!” I protest.
But he comes to me, picks up the tiara from the box, and lays it on top of my head. “Of course, you can. You’re my princess,” he says.
I feel the tiara on my head, then stand to look at myself in the mirror on the other side of the room. “But it doesn’t match any of my clothes…” I say in a fleeting voice.
“Keep on looking through the bags, silly,” he says, placing a towel and his underwear over his shoulder and heading for the bathroom.
And I keep going through the bags. In one of them, there’s a black leather jacket and a short white dress with ruffles at the hem, and in the other bag, Mr. Obvious got me knee-high leather boots.
“You think these things will match?” I ask him, poking my head inside the bathroom door, genuinely curious, as I’ve never wore high-end jewelry.
“The girls at the store said it would!” he says, under the cascade of the shower head, warm water vapors already creating steam.
“I’m going to try it!” I say, and head out to grab the clothes and get back into the bathroom.
