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At two o’clock, her office door swung open, and Tildy looked up at her mother standing in the doorway. “Aren’t you ready?” Deirdre demanded. Tildy nodded, slid her purse out of the lower desk drawer, and discretely slid the ring back on her finger. She rounded the desk, straightened her blouse, and followed her mother out of the building.
Deirdre Fletcher normally did not approve of playing hooky, but she was singularly obsessed with making the engagement and wedding an opportunity to remind Rapid City who its First Family was. Tildy parked her car next to her mother’s at a dress shop recommended by Vera Simmons. Tildy’s mother often pretended to shop locally and then ordered anything she really needed online from Neiman’s or Bergdorf’s. She’d make a good show of looking at wedding dresses in town, then she’d drag Tildy to Chicago, most likely, and purchase one there.
Thankfully though, Tildy only needed a new dress for the engagement party at the moment. She could save the Battle of the Wedding Gown for later. Live to die another day, she told herself as the bell overhead tinkled, announcing their entrance.
As her mother stood talking to the salesclerk, Tildy studied the racks of formal and semi-formal wear. She knew she shouldn’t bother to look. She was only here to try on whatever her mother picked out for her. Tildy couldn’t actually remember a single item of clothing she’d ever chosen for herself. She thought about Skylar pointing out, once again, how plain she was. Well, maybe Tildy could kill two birds with one stone.
She reached out and grabbed a green strapless dress. She’d never worn anything like it in her life, because she always had to hide her arms. She checked the size and whirled past her mother and clerk. Deirdre paused and watched her for a moment, then excused herself from the other woman and followed Tildy to the dressing room.
“Matilda,” her mother said through the door as Tildy shut and locked it. It rattled on its hinges as Deirdre tried to open it. Tildy smirked to herself and started to unbutton her blouse. “Matilda,” her mother repeated. “I haven’t had a chance to look at anything yet.” Her mother’s tone was pleasant, because the saleslady was within earshot, but Tildy knew Deirdre had to be growing more irritated by the second.
She ignored her mother’s protests and stepped into the dress. She managed to zip it up herself after a few comical contortions. She took a deep breath as she reached for the lock, since the actual changing room had no mirror. She flipped the lock and stepped out into the smaller, private vestibule that housed a three-way mirror.
Deirdre scowled at her. “I hardly think that’s-”
Tildy brushed past her, forcing her to step out of the way. She marched to the mirror and stood in front of it.
“Oh my,” said the saleslady. Tildy caught her gaze in the mirror. She wasn’t certain if the woman was referring to Tildy’s bruises or the dress itself. Her elbow bespoke of some kind of mishap and the woman shook her head in commiseration.
“Accident,” Tildy said, explaining everything away with cool detachment.
“I see, dear. Terrible.”
“It’ll be gone by the party,” Tildy insisted.
“Matilda,” Deirdre replied, “Go take that off and let me-”
“I want this one.” Tildy’s voice was strong and determined and gave no hint of her pounding heart and sweaty palms. She’d never once defied her mother, not even over something as simple as a dress.
“Matilda,” Deirdre tried again. “We won’t be able to find a wrap that-”
Tildy whirled, startling the saleslady. She fixed her gaze on her mother, the woman whose approval had always been simultaneously paramount yet unattainable, the woman who’d ruled over her with an iron fist. Sometimes, though rarely, corrections weren’t just pinches. A few times in Tildy’s life the correction had been the iron fist.
“We won’t need a wrap,” she announced to her mother and the saleswoman.
Deirdre’s mouth opened and then closed again. She regarded Tildy with equal parts surprise and fury, but she remained silent. Tildy nodded, as much to herself as to the woman who’d tormented her for her entire life. She smiled at the saleswoman exactly the way her mother had taught her. “I’ll take this one.”
The saleswoman, oblivious to how angry Tildy’s mother was, returned the smile. “Absolutely. You look beautiful.”
Tildy knew it was a sales pitch. She wasn’t beautiful, not even close, but she was damn tired of being plain. In fact, she was damn tired of a lot of things. She glided past her seething mother and back into the changing stall. As she hung the dress back on the hanger, she realized it was the same color as the blouse she’d been wearing the first time she’d met Hawk.
Chapter 45
Hawk was drying his hair with a towel when he heard the knock on his front door. Adjusting the towel wrapped around his waist, he headed out of the bedroom. When he opened the door, Tildy was standing on his front porch, wide brown eyes looking up at him.
