The Knight Of The Rose (2 page)

magazine.

“This is beautiful,” I said, spinning slowly to take it all in.

“I told you,” Vicki beamed.

“Okay.” I held my arms out to the sides. “Dress me up.”

My mind wandered in a secluded mist of pinks, reds and the clucking of fussing hens as they

spun me around and forced me into every dress in the store. I knew they were having fun, Vicki and

the shopkeeper, but I could think of at least three things I’d rather be doing. I already knew which

dress I was getting; I just wanted to go get it, and go home.

When they threw a shimmering, bright, s ky-blue dress at me, I woke suddenly fr om my

daze. It slid onto my body like silk to satin, the carefully tailored lines fitting the contours of my

hips like a glove.

I stepped onto the box in f ront of the four-walled mirror, and smiled as Vicki and the clerk

gasped. Spinning around slowly, running my fingers over my hips, I marvelled at the soft organza,

bunched together at the waist on one side and shrouded wi th little diamantes. The strapless corset

bustle hugged my body until the full, flowing drop of the skirt glided out from my hips and over the

ground—like a wedding dress, but blue—and without a hoop skirt underneath.

“You look like a princess.” Vicki almost started crying.

I pressed my fingers over the bust of the dre ss; the clerk pulled it so ti ght that my waist

became a half-size smaller, and I totally looked like I was wearing a push-up bra.

Vicki’s right. This dress is amazing.

“We’ll take it,” Vicki all but squealed.

Uh-oh. This is going to upset her. I shook my head. “No, it’s a thou sand dollars, Vicki. I

can’t. I’ll just get the green one in the other store.”

“But, why, Ara?”

“I told you. I’m not going to let my boyfriend buy a dress for me. It’s ridiculous!”

“He’s buying it for you?” the clerk asked, astonished.

“No! He’s not.”

“But, Ara. It’s so lovely, and—”

“It’s just a stupid dress. Who cares? I’ll wear it for a few hours, then take it off an d never

wear it again. It’s a waste of money. I’ll just get the green one.”

“But—”

“I can do what I want, Vicki. It’s not your life!” I jumped off the podium and stormed into

the change room—slamming the door.

The girl in the mirror l ooked up at me when I took one last look at my reflection. She was

thinking the same thing I was; the dress is b eautiful. I wish I could afford it, because it

definitely is
the one
. But I won’t take advantage of my boyf riend just because he happens t o have

made a few smart investments in his hundred-year existence.

But, David would love this dress, too, and I know, from the look on Vicki’s face, that I just

broke her heart. “Maybe—” I said, reaching out to the girl in the mirror; she smiled.

No. I drew my hand back quickly and looked away. “No! The answer is no. We’re not

getting the dress.”

“Did you say something, dear?” the clerk asked.

“Uh, no—just talking to myself,” I called back.

Myself looked at me solemnly, and I shook my head. “Stop pouting. We’re getting the green

dress.” Vicki walked quietly behind me as I headed to the other dress store, purchased the green one

with
my own
money and headed to ‘Summer Magic Masks and Hats Boutique.’

“This one would’ve been perfect with the blue dress,” Vicki offered, holding up an almost

transparent blue, organza-covered mask. The little stones around the eyes were patterned out like a

butterfly, and as s he angled it just so, it caught the light and shimmered like a diamond-powdered

oil painting.

“Yes.” I swallowed and switched on the uncaring me with a noncommittal shrug. “It’s great.

But I have the green dress.”

“Oh, well, the only mask here that goes with green—is this gold one.” Vicki grinned widely.

“I know how much you
love
gold.”

“Gold?” I tried to hold back the sound of vomit in the back of my th roat. “I do love gold.

And you’re right, it’ll look great with the green.” Yuk!

Begrudgingly, I purchased the mask, and as we left the store—with my outfit f inally

complete—I felt a tight pull in my chest. Perhaps it was…regret?

After the first five minutes into t he drive back home—in complete silence—I watched

Vicki’s face, and the pig-headed me softened a little more. Sam’s her only child. He will forever be

her only child. Poor Vicki, I’ve just ruined her last chance to do the girlie going-to-a-ball thing. And

sure, I feel like a hack, but it’s too late now.

We pulled up to the garage door, and my heart sunk into the pit of my stomach. “What ’s

David doing here?” I sat forward slightly and looked at his car. “He was supposed to be here at

two.” Vicki grinned and shut the engine off. “We thought it might be better if they started earlier.”

“But—” but thi s dress was supposed to be hidden before David arrived today. Oh, God.

Grilling imminent.

“What’s the matter, Ara? I thou ght you’d be happy to see David.” Vicki’s tone had all the

malice of a person who knew that I knew that she knew I was totally getting busted—and she was

relishing in the idea.

“Of course I’m happy to see him, Vicki.” I closed the car door with my hip and folded my

dress over my arm. “I can’t wait to show him my dress.”

“Me too.” She w alked ahead and ope ned the fro nt door for me, all the while wearing the

smile of an evil stepmother.

The skin on my neck tightened.

“Greg? We’re home.”

“We’re upstairs—” Dad called. “How was shopping?”

“Great,” I said and started up the stairs.

“So you got a dress?” David, waiting at the top, with his fingers wedged into his pockets,

looked down at me with anticipation. It was easy to make out the muscles in his chest when he

stood that way. He looked so strong and vampire-like. My breath quivered. I do quite like vampires,

now.

“I did, and I think you’ll love it.”

David kissed my cheek as I passe d him, then, he studied Vicki’s face as she followed. My

shoulders subconsciously hunched around my ears. As I reached my bedroom, I peered behind me

and saw my dad wedged behind th e door of the spare room. It looked like they’d be en trying to

force the giant red couch out of the room, with little success.

“Did you have fun?” Dad asked, wiping his brow . Vicki shrugged and sat on the sofa—still

wedged in th e doorway. “That good, huh?” Dad smiled at me, ra ising his brows at my modest

collection of shopping bags.

“She hasn’t changed a bit when it comes to shopping, Greg,” Vicki whined.

David folded his arms, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Vicki for a second, then his

head whipped up, and he looked at me with an open-mouthed frown.

That’s my cue to leave.

With a shrug of my shoulder, I headed into my room quickly—ignoring the jitterbug running

over my spine.

I’m in so much trouble.

After hanging the dress safely in my wardrobe, I headed back out to help Dad with the spare

room—half expecting David to jump out and attack me. But he di dn’t. Worse, he continued to help

Dad—all the while saying nothing at all—well, nothing at all to me.

He’s mad. I know it. I can tell.

With my hands on my hips, I watched the two boys struggle with the offending sofa while

Vicki, who must’ve climbed in past Dad, vacuumed the carpet where the sofa had been.

At last, the bulky lounge shifte d, and David pretended to struggle with i ts weight as he and

my dad carried it out of the room and angled it up the stairwell to the attic.

I should run. I should go outside and spend t he rest of the day at the park or something.

When David finishes pretending to be human, he is so going to tear shreds off me—fi guratively

speaking.

Against my better judgment, I sauntered into the spare room when Vicki called me, and took

the duster from her. “Make sure you dust the cornices, Ara. I hate cobwebs.”

I grinned and thought of a mythological vampire’s house; coffins and cobwebs and bats. If

David had Vicki and Dad over for tea , and vampires were like the m yths, she’d conceal a feather

duster in her handbag and sneak off to the bathroom every five minutes, but secretly, she’d be

removing all David’s eight- legged pets. Then again, the only reason a vampire would invite Vicki

and Dad to tea would be if they were the main course.

“I suppose you think you’re pretty funny?”

I looked up, snapping out of m y reverie in a suddenly empty room. “Actually, I do. I think

you’d look rather fetching in a coffin.”

David’s eyes narrowed in obvious confusion and he folded his arms. “Ara, what are you

talking about?”

“The cobwebs—” I pointed to th e ceiling, then dropped my hand slowly, realising that

wasn’t what David was referring to. “Oh. The dress?”

“Yes. The dress.”

“I—” I bought my own dress, big fr eaking deal! What is this, a dictatorship? “You know

what?” I sunk my hip down on one side and propped my hand on it. “Bite me!”

“Don’t tempt me, young lady.”

“It’s just a dress. Get over it.”

David shook his head and backed away from me as Dad and Vicki waltzed in, carrying the

bed-head. “Oh, Vicki, please, let me take that.” The human David took over for the angry vampire,

and I secluded myself in my task while the three of them continued furnishing the room around me.

As time ticked on and my mediocre tasks came to completion, I leaned on the tall chest of

drawers at the foot of the bed and watched David.

Anger has a funny way of dissipating when you look at the entity of your infuriation and see

hurt. I don’t know how this dress-buying thing worked in the old days—the one’s David grew up

in—but what I do know is that by refusing to accept his gift, I’ve deeply offended him.

If only I could take it all back.

But then, on the other hand, no. I’m not proud that his feelings are hurt, but if I don’t want

him to buy me a dr ess, he just has to respect t hat. I’m my own person, and I have the right to make

my own decisions. The only reason I agreed to it in the first place is because he forced me into it.

There’s no law saying I have to accept a gift, and I can wear whatever I want.

My head nodded in self-satisfaction, but my heart danced a lonely samba under my rib cage

as the afternoon sun lit the room and kissed the golden skin of the boy I was in love with. He makes

it so hard to be mad at him; he’s mad at me, and I’m mad at him for bei ng mad at me, but now I’m

mad because I don’t want to be mad at him anymore—and that makes me feel uneasy because I

have a right to be mad.

He dusted off his hands after he placed a small set of drawers next to the bed, then smiled at

me—the conceited I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-I’m-finding-it-funny smile.

“Er!” I stomped my foot and balled my fists up beside me. “You’re so annoying.”

“Ara?” Vicki looked up from making the bed, then looked at David and Dad as I stormed

out of the room and slumped on the settee in the hall.

Dad walked out aft er me and s topped by soon-to-be-Mike’s door with a look of intens e

thought, then snickered and walked away. Vick i, with her arms folded around a spa re blanket,

followed him—after casting an accusatory glance at me.

I folded my arms, scoffed in her direction when her back was turned, and refolded my arms.

“Another one of Ara’s infamous tantrums.” Davi d, with his towering height, stood in front

of me.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” I slid down in the chair and bit my teeth together.

“Hm.” He turned and headed back into the spare room. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Coulda? You mean…did!”

“Yes.” He st opped and leaned on the doorfr ame. “I must admit, that was very clever of

you—stuffing your purse with a lesser amount. But you can’t read minds, mon amour—” he tapped

his temple, “so your plan was doomed from the start.”

“Well, you assumed I was submissive, so yours was, too.”

“Submissive?” He dropped his arms and moved over to me. “Ara, is that what you think?”

“I don’t know. You seem to know all my thoughts, so you tell me.”

“Ara. Look at me.” He knelt in front of me. “Please?”

With my movements as rigid as a frozen elastic band, I rolled my head upward, but kept my

bottom lip in a completely tight pout.

“My love, I’m sorr y. I never meant to offend you. I—” He took my hand; I let him, wit h

only a little bit of a fight. “I was being playful, mostly. I truly did not think that my spending money

on you would be considered rude or controlling.”

“It’s not that, David.” My tone sung with reason . “It’s that when I tried to decline, you got

mad at me.”

“Mad?” He doubled back a little. “You think I’m mad?”

“You’ve been ignoring me,” I said quietly.

“Ara,” he laughed my name out, “I’m not mad. Not at all. Ge eze, girl, sometimes you really

can make a mountain out of a molehill, can’t you?”

Tears coated the surprise behind my eyes. “I thought you’d yell at me.”

“Yell?” His brow pulled low on one side, thought washing across his face. “Ara, what kind

of a man do you think I am?”

“One that likes to get his own way.”

As if a rope had just pul led his soul out onto th e carpet, his face went pale, his eyes drained