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“How does it fit?” he asks.
“It’s fits perfectly,” I say and it does.
“Can I see?” he asks.
Stepping out from behind the screen I find Fitzy waiting a few paces away and Carson sat on the couch, a beer in hand, his eyes on me.
“What do you think?” Fitzy asks, pulling my attention back to him.
“It’s nice,” I say noncommittally.
“Nice,” Fitzy says, rolling the word across his tongue. “So it’s a no?”
“No. I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask him.
His eyes go sad and he crosses toward me, wrapping me in an unexpected hug. His build is much leaner than Carson’s but still solid and firm. When he pulls back he doesn’t release me completely, his fingers running along the end of my braid. “Oh sweet girl,” he coos.
“I’m not sweet,” I tell him quietly. “That’s my sister.”
“No honey, that’s you too. You’re even more broken than she is, aren’t you?”
“I’m not broken, I’m just evil,” I breath.
He shakes his head. “Oh Carrigan, the bruises are just below the surface for you aren’t they,” he whispers quietly.
A tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek as I stare at this man who I just met, but who sees me in a way that I don’t see myself, he sees something in me that’s not bad and twisted.
I hear Carson moving behind us and so must Fitzy, because he clears his throat and smiles. “That dress is a no. Unless it wows you and makes you feel beautiful, it’s not for you.”
Letting him guide me back behind the screen, I wipe the tears from my cheeks as I strip the dress off and try on the next outfit he hands me. An hour later I’ve discovered that I like skirts, the color blue, and blazers, and I have a real smile on my face for the first time in longer than I can remember.
Back home I have closets full of clothes, and I’ve always endured shopping rather than enjoyed it. But trying on all these outfits with Fitzy has been fun. His enthusiasm for clothes is overwhelming and with his sweet guiding help I think I’m starting to figure out what I like.
I expected Carson to leave, he’s a guy after all, what guy enjoys clothes. But the entire time I’ve been trying on outfits, he’s stayed in the living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table watching me, smiling as I smile, not giving an opinion until I’d given my own.
“Thank you,” I say to Fitzy, as he collapses the privacy screen.
“Pah, this is what I live for,” he says, waving my thanks off. “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow with some more choices for you now we’re getting a firmer fix on your style and I have your proper measurements, then going forward I’ll just send things out to you as I find them for you.”
“I’m not sure where I’m going to be staying, but for the moment I’m at the Haywood Hotel. Do you bill me, or should I give you my credit card details? How does this work?” I ask.
“Oh it’s already sorted,” Fitzy says, leaning in to press a kiss against my cheek. “And I have your cell number so I’ll just text you and you can let me know where you want me to bring the next batch of things for you to try.”
“How is it sorted? Are you going to send the bill to the hotel?” I ask, narrowing my eyes a little. The outfits we picked together tonight are thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, I mean I know he knows I’m rich, but I still need to know how to pay him.
“He’s putting it on my account,” Carson says.
“What, why?” I gasp, spinning to face him.
“Because I told him to.”
“Right my darlings,” Fitzy interrupts, “I’ll leave you to it. Carrigan, it was a pleasure to meet you, I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you, man,” Carson says, embracing Fitzy in a man hug, before the older man leaves pulling the rail of clothes behind him.
I wait for a moment, until Fitzy is out of sight before I turn on Carson. “What are you doing?”
“Come here Priss.”
