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Mint pressed, gently. “Winter, you have no idea how many partners have sworn that to me. Making excuses about tempers, my fault, and so on. I’ve heard it all before, including the lies to my face. You can tell me the truth.”
I yanked my arm out of his grip. “It’s not like that. It’s just jiu-jitsu. Or kickboxing. Or boxing. Or grappling. You can come to the gym to watch if that’d make you believe me!”
He gave me that sad little smile. “You’ve been sad even for you, Winter. What happened?”
I grasped for some half-truth to tell him. “I messed up. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t.”
“Mistakes happen. Don’t let people make them into a bigger deal than they need to be.”
“I’m trying.” Just like I was trying to be patient while Sterling waited for his parents to get back from Europe so he could ask them about Apharia, because apparently him butting into his father’s business matters was going to touch off a nuclear conflict.
Mint nodded to the bruise on my arm. “If you have some the night of your parties, call me. I’ll come over and help you get cleaned up so nobody has anything to gossip about.”
He stepped off the dais, opened the door for the assistant, and then draped himself back over the chair.
The full length blue gown had a strange, swirly, deeply ruched bodice, the skirt flared out from my hips and it was speckled with sequins. “I do look like an upside down cupcake, though.”
The attendant overheard my comment as she stomped in, and tersely told me it was a dress by so-and-so, then added with a mumbled huff, “Mrs. Rhodes chose this very dress in champagne for a party.”
She sniffed like I should know or care who Mrs. Rhodes was and then clutch my pearls in horror at my own ignorance.
Mint snapped, “Winter Mortcombe is not Theresa Rhodes. Mrs. Mortcombe is not obligated to like anything, couture or not. Take it off and bring in the green dress.”
The attendant stood up, stalked behind me and started unfastening clamps. She hissed, “Third-rate trophy wife.”
She’d happily pocket her commission, third-rate money or not.
My phone started peeping.
Mint fished around under the dresses and wrappings, located my phone, and said, “It’s Sterling.”
I held out my hand. “Yes, I know. That’s his ringtone.”
“Your husband’s ringtone is a peep?” Mint asked.
“Sterling doesn’t think it’s nearly as hilarious as I do.”
[Sterling] >> What is needed to record a 6yo girl?
I balanced the phone in one hand while the attendant loosened the blue dress and shimmied it over me. She swore under her breath again, loud enough that I heard it, but not enough for Mint. I swapped my phone to my other hand, stepped over the pile of silk, and continued to ignore her.
She could take her couture dress, stuff it, put it on her bed, and snuggle with it like a giant teddy bear for all I cared. I had more important things to worry about. Namely not breaking both ankles balancing in the stripper heels Mint had informed me I had to learn to wear. I could barely handle modest regular heels. These had a tall spike with a one inch platform under the toe.
They were pretty: blue ombre fading to clear and speckled with rhinestones.
Like a blue-ring octopus was pretty.
I caught another look at my reflection and ignored the fading bruises on my left side. Silk panties trimmed with a little lace, a lace bra, and the shoes. All I needed was some music and a pole.
Winter [Sterling] >> Is it complicated?
[Sterling] >> It’s not a newborn?
Winter [Sterling] >> Common.
[Sterling] >> Not a legal battle?
Winter [Sterling] >> No.
