Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

“Can I help?” Ginger calls over the door. I turn the handle and step out.

She eyes me.

“It fits you perfectly.”

I can’t argue with that. But it also does nothing for me. It’s a dress for a twelve-year old, and it doesn’t complement my coloring.

As I’m turning in the mirror, trying to like it, a swatch of crimson red catches my eye, and I gravitate it like the earth toward the sun.

Ginger trails behind, and I run the red satin beneath my fingers.

“This one,” I say uncertainly. “It’s beautiful. May I try it on?”

Ginger’s hesitant. “This gown… it was made for someone else,” she says slowly, but when I’m so obviously disappointed, she quickly adds, “But of course you can try it. We can always create another for Miss Aimes. I don’t want to upset Mrs. Savage.”

I don’t correct her… I don’t tell her that I would never say something bad about her to Eleanor, because she’s so quick to try and keep me happy and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. It’s clear that she’s very intimidated by my grandmother.

She helps me out of the pale pink gown, and hangs it up while I put on the red.

As I turn around, she sucks in her breath. “Miss Price, you look stunning.”

And I do. I examine myself in the mirror in surprise, because there is a stranger looking back. A woman with perfect curves and flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes and a stunning gown. The gown is strapless and although the top is just a smidgeon big, everywhere else hugs me just exactly right.

I am a woman in this dress.

If Dare could see me in this dress….

He has to see me in this dress.

“I wouldn’t have thought the color would work with your hair,” Ginger tells me. “But it’s perfect.”

“Can I have this one?” I ask hopefully, and Ginger nods.

“Of course. We’ll create something new for Miss Aimes. This gown was clearly meant for you. We’ll take in the bust about a half-inch, and it will fit you like a glove.”

We pick out shoes and jewelry, and Finn is waiting for me in the car.

“I like being fancy,” he decides, and he says it in a British accent. I giggle and start to reply, but I see something that gives me pause, a little café on a corner.

A dark-haired man sits in the café window.

Dare.

His face is intense, focused, and he’s staring at the man across the table from him. He’s not happy, far from it, in fact.

I can’t see the other man, not clearly, even though I crane my neck. I can only partially see his face, the rest of him is hidden.

But he’s firmly middle-aged, maybe fifty-something? Dark haired, and the one cheek that I can see looks flushed, a scarlet red flash of color.

Why are they upset?

Dare must feel me staring at him, and he turns, his dark eyes meeting mine. There is surprise in his, then dismay. I see it, I feel it, and then he looks away.

He’s trying to pretend I didn’t see him, and I wonder if I should do the same?

But he doesn’t give me the chance.

After dinner, while Eleanor and Sabine are engaged in a quiet conversation in the library, Dare approaches me with his black slacks and his light cashmere sweater.