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I set the bag on the nightstand before moving back a few feet. Reaching for the sash of the coat, I silently prayed he remembered this reference because I was going to feel really fucking ridiculous if he didn’t.
With a deep breath, I pulled the sash off, then slipped out of the coat.
Leaving me standing there in thigh-highs and a little white nursemaid’s dress. With a red bra peeking out.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back onto the headboard as his gaze roamed over me. “You even got the bra right,” he said, making my heart swoop and soar.
“I aim to please,” I said, making my way toward the side of the bed, reaching for the bag, but finding my left wrist snagged in his hand.
“And here I was thinking the only time I’d see you in a dress was on our wedding day,” he said, his finger sliding across the ring that had been settled on my finger for months now.
I’ll admit that, before Dav, I never really understood the whole wedding and marriage thing. But I found myself doing girly shit like looking at floral arrangements and tablescapes ever since Dav got down on one knee.
The whole thing was practically planned out even though we hadn’t even set a date yet.
“You know,” he said, pulling until I had no choice but to move up onto the bed, straddling his waist. “There is one major advantage of dresses,” he told me, pushing my skirt up, and teasing his fingers over the red lacy panties I put on to match the bra.
“You’re injured,” I insisted.
“Baby, if I’m ever too injured to fuck you, take me out back and put me out of my misery,” he said, yanking me in, and sealing his lips to mine.
Before showing me all the advantages of dresses.
Dav - 7 years
“I just think it’s time you let the poor guy move up from associate, that’s all I’m saying,” I told Cinna as we walked out of the restaurant and onto the cold December streets, the wind biting at any exposed skin in seconds.
“He’s a child,” Cinna insisted of Lip. Who’d just turned twenty-two.
“He’s three years older than you were when you became a capo,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, but—“ she started, suddenly wrenching away from me, and turning on her heel.
Before I even knew what she was doing, her arm shot out, grabbing the wrist of someone trying to get away from her as quickly as possible.
“Nice try, kid,” she said, yanking harder until she turned the person in a black hoodie around, revealing a young girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen with light blonde hair around a deceptively sweet-looking face with big, doe, blue eyes. But there was cunning behind them.
And I didn’t know exactly why until she sighed and reached into her hoodie pocket.
“Fine. Here,” she said, holding out Cinna’s wallet to her.
“That was really fucking smooth,” Cinna told her, taking back her wallet.
“Not smooth enough,” the girl said, that look in her eye suddenly disappearing, leaving only a soul-deep sort of desperation.
It was then that I saw it.
The gloves with holes in them. The shoes worn halfway through the rubber. Her greasy hair. The way her jeans were sagging off of her waist and legs, like she’d lost a lot of weight since she’d originally gotten them.
“How about I buy you something to eat, and you tell me who taught you to pick a pocket that well,” Cinna suggested, that big, gooey heart of hers never able to walk away from a street kid in need.
“Fine,” the girl said, looking annoyed, but there was relief in her blue eyes as she fell into step beside Cinna.
“What’s your name?” Cinna asked.
“Della.”
“Della, nice. I’m Cinna. This is my husband, Dav. Who I will meet back at the house later,” she said, tone a bit pointed. She wanted me to get lost.
