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“Yes.”
“You’ll be with me the entire time. No one will look at you. No one will touch you. It’s simply…certain formalities that must be adhered to.”
“That makes it sound almost legitimate.” I sigh, glancing out over the fading indigo skyline.
“Ah, avecita, the most depraved creatures hide amongst civil company. You should know this.” I swallow heavily. I do. All too well. And it’s why I don’t want to attend his dinner, or gathering—whatever it is. But I won’t say no to him.
“Fine. What am I supposed to wear?” I still have no idea about fashion or clothes. I’m only just getting used to wearing them all the time.
His lips curl. “Just cover up.”
I frown at him. “Why?”
“Because, my little warrior, it’s very poor business to cut a man’s eyes from his head at dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m a sl—”
“Don’t!”
“No one is going to notice me.” The Master always wanted me to be the shiny object on his arm at social events. He wanted me to make him the envy of other men. I learned quickly to try and become a shadow. He never allowed it of course, but it served me well when he sold me. I can be virtually invisible if I want to be.
“How desperately unaware you are, avecita.” He says nothing more, simply starts unbuttoning his shirt and then walks back inside before going into the bathroom. I hear the shower start and frown. Why is he showering in here?
On a resigned sigh, I walk into the closet and pause. On one side are dresses and shelves of shoes—way more than I could ever possibly need or use—and on the other are shirts and suit jackets and racks of shiny brogues.
Rafael’s clothes are in here. I shelf that little piece of information for a second and take the first dress I find off the hangar and change into it. Glancing at my reflection in the full-length mirror it takes me a split second to recognize myself. The pastel blue dress has a wide neck that sits just below my collarbone, with sleeves that cover my arms, concealing the tattoo on my wrist. The material clings to my now curvier body, stopping inches above my knees. Glancing back at the rail of dresses, I see that there are many more, just as nice.
Returning to my reflection, I twist slightly, dragging my fingers through my hair. Golden waves tumble to the curve of my waist, shinier and bouncier than they have ever been before. My skin is tanned, my eyes brighter. I can’t correlate this girl with who I am. We’re as different as night and day. She’s the shiny exterior covering up the mess within, and I hate her for it. I hate her for looking so perfect. I hate her because I want to be her, and I never truly will be. She’s a lie.
Taking a step back, I drop onto the small, upholstered stool in the middle of the closet. The girl in the mirror stares back at me with sad eyes, and I feel guilty for dulling the sparkle she had only moments ago. A door clicks open somewhere, and then Rafael steps into the closet, hesitating when he sees me. Our eyes meet in the mirror for a second before his slip over my full-bodied reflection.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
I sigh. “A lie.”
“I don’t lie.”
“No. Her.” I point at the reflection. “She’s a lie.” I turn around to face him. He’s frowning at me. “Pretty, shiny…clean. Strong.”
He grabs my chin, tilting my head back roughly. His thumb drags over my bottom lip, his eyes tracking the movement. “She’s you. She’s your new truth. How quick you are to dismiss it in favor of a lie.” He tilts my head back even further. “Rise from the ashes, avecita, or remain in the burned-out shell of what you once were.”
He drops his hand away, his cold, unforgiving eyes on my face. He offers no sympathy, no kind words, only this simple unyielding belief that I can be better and do better. He looks at me as though I were bulletproof. He turns his back on me, and for the first time, my eyes drop to the bare skin of his tattooed back. A white towel clings to his hips, and I blush at the overwhelming sight of so much muscle and ink.
Pushing to my feet, I intend to move past him but pause when I see a simple red rose on his right shoulder blade, buried amongst a sea of black ink. Something about it draws my attention. The way the red petals are so detailed that I can almost feel their velvety texture under my fingertips. Or maybe it’s the little red blood droplets clinging to the thorns and the snags in his skin as though it were his blood. Before I register the movement, my fingers land on his hot skin. He freezes, and I jerk my hand away before he whirls around to face me.
The temperature in the small closet seems to double as I’m faced with a wall of half-naked Rafael only inches away from me. He both intrigues me and makes me wholly uncomfortable.
“Getting brave, little warrior.” He smirks.
“I just… the rose. I like it.”
“Of course you do.” He used to watch me in the gardens, as I smelled the roses. “It’s for my sister, Violet.”
“Then why not a violet?”
“Because, like a rose, she was beautiful but delicate, and she made me bleed when I tried to hold her too tight.” My heart stammers over itself. God, that’s beautiful and so tragic.
“I’m sorry.”
He shifts closer to me, and I force myself to stand still. I will not be scared of this man. “As heartwarming as this is, I need to get dressed.” He smiles, breaking through the thickness in the air. His hand goes to his towel, and for a second, just a second, I debate standing there and letting him drop it. I know he would. A strange warmth spreads through me, probing fingers reaching, caressing, teasing at something so foreign to me that I can’t identify it. Curiosity and possibilities flit through my mind like the flashing images of an old film reel. Rafael is not some experiment though. I cannot test the boundaries of my fear and curiosity on him. I hurry from the closet, avoiding his gaze. The sound of his deep laughter rumbles behind me, and I hate myself for running away from him, but I have to know my limitations. Rafael is always both my limit and my exception.
