Jessica's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side (14 page)

Lucius pulled back, and of course he was stronger. "Just look. Every woman needs beautiful things."

"I don't need
that."

"Of course you do. You could wear it to, say, this 'carnival' you're attending with Squatty Boy. It would be perfectly suitable for affairs like that."

"He's not squatty."

"Try on the dress."

"I have plenty of clothes," I insisted.

"Yes. And you should throw them all out. Especially the T-shirt with the white horse, the heart, and the letter
I
on the front. What is the purpose?"

"To show that I love Arabians," I said.

"I love rare steak, but I don't sport the image of raw beef on my chest."

"I already picked out an outfit."

Lucius scowled. "Something shiny from 'the mall,' I suppose?"

I flushed. I hated when Lucius was right.

"Believe me," he said. "If you wear that dress, you won't regret it. That was made for you."

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know about dressing girls?"

"I don't know about dressing girls. I know about dressing women." Lucius smiled archly. "Now come along. Indulge me."

Lucius led the way into the store, and I had to follow. As I'd predicted, the sales lady looked less than thrilled to see two high school students in her showroom. But Lucius was oblivious. "That dress in the window, with the embroidery." He pointed to me. "She'd like to try that." Crossing his arms and leaning back slightly, he mentally measured my body, head to toe. "Size eight?"

"Ten," I mumbled.

"The ten is in the window on the mannequin," the saleswoman noted. She jammed her skinny, red-fingernailed hands on her hips. "It's very troublesome to bring it down. If you're not serious about it. . ."

Uh-oh.
There wasn't much that I understood about Lucius Vladescu, but I knew for a fact that the saleslady's tone would not sit well with him.

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Did I not sound serious?" He leaned forward, reading the woman's name tag. "Leigh Ann?"

"Come on, Lucius ..." I started for the door.

"We're in rather a hurry, so if you could get it now, please," Lucius said, holding his ground. It was suddenly very easy to imagine him ordering around servants in a castle.

The saleswoman narrowed her eyes, assessing Lucius. Apparently she sniffed at least a hint of money in his cologne, heard it in his accent, or saw it in his swagger. "Fine," she huffed. "If you insist." She crawled up into the window and came back out a few minutes later with the dress. "Here," she said, draping it across my arms. "The dressing rooms are in the rear.

"Thank you," Lucius said.

"Whatever." Leigh Ann moved behind the counter, proceeding to ignore us.

Lucius followed me back toward the dressing rooms. I stopped him at the entrance with a firm hand on the chest. "You wait here."

"Let me see, though."

In the privacy of the dressing room, I kicked off my Chucks, wriggled out of my jeans and T-shirt, and slipped on the dress, wishing I was wearing a nicer bra. A bra that would do the dress justice.

Although it looked delicate, the fabric was heavier and softer than anything I'd ever owned. I zipped up the back as far as I could, the dress fell into place around me, and suddenly all the places I hated most on my body transformed into my best assets. My breasts filled out the bodice even better than the mannequins angular, skimpy little peaks. Looking at myself in the mirror, I remembered what Lucius had said about "pointy" girls and the benefits of having curves. In that dress, I understood what he meant. The hem swirled around my knees, and I twirled a little, staring at my front. My back. The fabric swept close to my full hips and draped perfectly across my butt. Lucius had been right. I looked
good.
It was like a magic dress.

"Well?" Lucius called from outside the dressing room. "How is it?"

"It's pretty," I admitted, understating how I really felt. Which was
beautiful

"Come out, then."

"Oh, I don't know ..." I was kind of embarrassed to show him. I glanced down at my chest. Skin usually covered by shirts was peeking out. The swell of my breasts—breasts I usually tried to de-emphasize—was visible for the world to see. For Lucius to see. It wasn't obscene, by any standard. But it was revealing for me.

"Jessica, you promised."

"Oh . . . okay." I tried to pull up the bodice a little but to no avail. My curves refused to hide. "Don't laugh or anything. Or stare."

"I will not laugh," Lucius promised. "There will be no
reason
to laugh. But I might stare."

Taking a deep breath, I shoved aside the curtain.

Lucius was lounging in the chair set out for bored husbands, his long legs stretched in front of him. But when he saw me, he shot straight up. Like I'd jolted him. And I swore I saw appreciation in his black eyes.

"Well?" I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my chest as I spun to look in the mirror. "What do you think?"

"You—you look amazing." Lucius stood, coming up behind me, never taking his eyes off me.

“
Really?"

"Beautiful, Antanasia," he murmured. "Beautiful."

Before I could remind him not to call me by that name, Lucius stepped even closer to me, slipped his hand under my long, unruly hair, and pulled the zipper all the way up. "Women always need help with the last few inches."

I swallowed hard.
How experienced
was
he?
"Urn, thank you.

"My pleasure." Then, to my intense surprise, Lucius snaked his fingers into my curls and gathered them up into a big, loose twist on top of my head. Suddenly, my neck looked very long. "Now that's how a Romanian princess should look," he said, drawing down to whisper in my ear. "Don't ever again say that you are not 'valuable,' Antanasia. Or not beautiful. Or, for god's sake, 'fat.' When you get the urge to indulge in such ridiculous, misplaced self-criticism, remember yourself at this moment."

No one had ever paid me a compliment like that.

For a minute, we stood there admiring me. I met Lucius's eyes in the mirror. In that split second, I could almost picture us . . . together.

Then he released my hair. It tumbled down my back, and the spell was broken. I glanced down at the price tag. "Oh my gosh. I have got to take this off. Right now. Before I sweat on it or something."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "If you must refer to 'sweat' in reference to yourself—and I strongly discourage it—use the word
perspire."

"I'm serious, Lucius. I'm about to start
perspiring
over the price."

Lucius bent to read the number on the tag and shrugged.

I hurried back to the dressing room, yanking on my jeans and lacing up my battered Chucks. The princess effect was definitely gone. Reluctantly, I handed the dress to the saleslady, who was waiting, holding a beautiful black cashmere wrap. "I'll box these up for you."

I glanced around for Lucius and found him standing at the sales counter, tapping a credit card against the glass countertop.

"It's too much," I whispered, hurrying over.

"Consider it a thank-you for your shopping guidance today. My gift for your gala."

I searched for irony or sarcasm in his eyes, saw none.
What does that mean?
That Lucius Vladescu was giving up his courtship of me? Doubtful.
Maybe?
"Thanks," I said uncertainly.

Leigh Ann carefully packaged the dress and the wrap in two boxes and handed them to me. "Enjoy." She had warmed considerably after the credit card had been approved.

"Have a nice day, Leigh Ann." Lucius placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me out of the store.

"I really don't know what to say," I stammered when we were outside. "It's such a huge gift. The dress alone cost a fortune, and the wrap is cashmere."

"It will no doubt be cool at night, and you can't wear a 'jean jacket' with that dress."

"Well, thank you."

"I told you. Every woman deserves beautiful things," Lucius said. "I just hope Squatty Boy appreciates you in this." He paused outside, scanning the storefronts. "Couldn't you go for a Strawberry Julius about now?"

Chapter
17

"SO, JAKE, HOW WAS the hay crop this year?" Dad asked, trying to make conversation.

"Good, I guess." Jake seemed uncertain about even that simple answer, probably because he was on the spot, under inspection by my parents.

"I'd be happy to show you some of the chemical-free pest control methods we use, if you're interested—"

"Dad," I interrupted. "You promised. No environmental lectures."

Why had my parents been so intent on having dinner with Jake, anyway? They were all about personal space and learning autonomy—until it came to me actually going out with a guy. Then suddenly they'd gone all
Seventh Heaven
on me, insisting that Jake have dinner with us—even though he'd grown up just down the road and delivered hay to our house every few weeks. It was totally awkward. And the fact that Lucius was in a nasty mood wasn't helping.

"More soy milk?" Mom offered.

Jake held up a hand, a little too quickly. "No thanks."

"It's kind of an acquired taste," I sympathized.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I'm used to the regular kind of milk."

"Which exploits cows," Dad added, jabbing a fork in Jake's general direction. "Poor animals, lined up in a row, their teats attached to cold metal—"

Teats?
"Dad,
please. Don't say that word—"

"What?" My dad tossed up his hands, all innocence. "Jake lives on a farm. I'm sure he is familiar with a cow's teats."

Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my face. Leave it to Dad to bring up a cow's personal anatomy during my first dinner with Jake and then accuse him of being "familiar" with the bovine equivalent of breasts. Like Jake went to second base with livestock or something. I glanced at Lucius, expecting him to smirk, but he simply picked at his salad, examining one of Dad's prized cherry tomatoes like it was a mucus-filled alien life-form that had somehow become stuck on the end of his fork.

"Ned," Mom intervened. "Perhaps we
could
change the topic." I experienced one brief moment of relief, until my mom turned to Jake and noted, "I understand you're reading
Moby Dick
in your literature class."