Monster in His Eyes(23)

"Thanks," I mumble as she walks away. I turn to Melody, about to say  something-anything-when she lets out a squeal and drops her school bag  in the middle of the store, grabbing my hand and yanking me over to a  rack of clothes.

She's thrown into fast-forward as she descends upon the store, picking  up dresses and holding them up to herself, running to the closest mirror  and twirling around. The girl is a shopping machine. I scan some racks,  noticing not a single piece has a price tag. "How am I supposed to know  how much they cost?"                       
       
           



       

That icy voice clears nearby. "Mr. Vitale said you're to pick out what you like, not what you think you can have."

"That sounds like him," I mutter, picking up a sleek black dress and  surveying it before sticking it back on the rack. I doubt I could  squeeze a thigh into the thing.

Melody accumulates a dozen dresses she wants to try on, forcing a few on  me along the way. I humor her, trying them on before pushing them  aside. They're flashy and revealing, nothing I would be caught dead in. I  find a simple black dress in my size and pick it up, heading toward the  dressing rooms with it when another catches my eye. It's on a rack of  pink and purple dresses, but the color falls somewhere in between, like  raspberry.

I walk over to it, running my hand along the material. The gown is soft  with an embroidered see-through overlay, giving the illusion of it being  strapless but with three-quarter length sleeves. I don't know much  about fashion besides that-don't recognize the designer's name or know  what it's made of-but it's utterly beautiful.

And it's my size.

I take it into the dressing room, forgetting all about the black dress,  and set to work putting on the gown. I struggle zipping it the whole way  up in the back and step out of the dressing room wearing it, finding  Melody admiring herself in a full-length mirror. She's wearing a black  dress that seems to be made of leather and lace, low cut and skin tight.  Her gaze catches mine in the mirror and she freezes.

"Can you zip this?" I ask, turning around so my back is to her. As soon  as I do, I catch sight of a familiar set of eyes along the street. Naz.

He steps into the boutique. The saleswoman greets him warmly-a hell of a  lot warmer than she greeted us-but his eyes are fixed solely on me as  Melody zips me up. The dress is snug, tight around my chest, but it's  bearable.

And damn, it's beautiful.

Naz walks toward us, ignoring the saleswoman as she attempts to strike  up conversation. His eyes scan me as he approaches, but as soon as he's  right up on us he focuses on Melody instead. He holds his hand out. "I  haven't had the pleasure of actually meeting you yet. Melody Carmichael,  I presume?"

My brow furrows. I most definitely didn't tell him her full name, but for some reason I'm not surprised he knows it.

Melody's flustered, blinking a few times as she takes his hand.

"Ignazio Vitale," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "I've heard a lot about you, Miss Carmichael."

"I, uh …  you, too."

He laughs, letting go as he turns to me. "I doubt that."

His eyes scan me, lingering on my breasts before trailing down my  stomach, following the curve of my hips and the whole way down to my  feet. A slight smirk touches his lips, just enough to flash a dimple.  "Nice dress."

"You think so?" I ask, glancing down.

"Yes," he says. "It looks great on you."

Melody's gaze shifts between the two of us as she waves our way. "Isn't  this like, against the rules? You're not supposed to see the dress  beforehand."

"That's only when you get married," I mutter, grasping the dress where it starts to flare beneath my hips and twirl it a bit.

"We're not quite at that point," Naz says, pausing before offering a  quiet "yet" that hits me so hard I blanch. He's not looking at me,  though, as he seeks out the saleswoman. He waves her over, and she  plasters a smile to her face as she approaches. Naz motions toward the  dress I'm wearing. "How much is this one going to run me?"

The woman looks it over. "The Monique Lhuillier is eleven."

I gasp. "Eleven hundred bucks?"

The woman's eyes burn through me. "Eleven thousand."

The moment she says it, I feel like I can't breath, the dress suddenly  too tight, constricting my airflow. I'm on the verge of panicking as Naz  motions towards Melody's. "And for Miss Carmichael's?"

"The Stella McCartney is on sale for eight-fifty."

"Eight-fifty what?" I demand.

"Dollars," the woman says.

"Oh." I glance at Melody's dress. Still expensive, but that's a hell of a lot better. "Can I have one of those instead?"

Before the woman can speak, Naz interjects, telling her he'll take both  dresses. He turns to me, a hint of amusement in his expression. "Pick  out some shoes to go with it."

I start to say I don't need shoes, just like I don't need an eleven  thousand dollar dress, but Melody grabs my arm to drag me away before I  can argue. I stumble, nearly tripping over the bottom of the dress.

"I don't know how the hell you snagged that man, Kissimmee, but you keep  him. You hear me? Any man that offers to buy you new shoes to go with  your new dress needs to be kept. You don't let him go for anything."                       
       
           



       

I laugh incredulously. I feel like I'm caught in a whirlwind as I plop  down on one of the comfortable chairs, slipping my feet into shoes  Melody thrusts at me. She picks out a pair of metallic beige pumps she  says look perfect with my dress, and I don't contradict her, or ask how  much they cost.

I'm afraid to know.

Naz pays with an American Express card. It's the first time I've ever  seen him use anything other than cash. I quietly mention it, not sure if  he's even paying me any attention, but his soft laugh tells me he  heard. After signing the receipt, everything paid, he turns to me. His  eyes flit around the shop, seeing Melody as she checks out the  mannequins by the front door, before he speaks. "It's not often I spend  so much I don't have the cash on hand to cover it."

"Why do you carry so much cash?" I ask, trying not to dwell on the fact  that he spent that much on me. "Aren't you afraid of someone robbing  you?"

He lets out a sharp bark of laughter like that's the most absurd thing he's ever heard. "Who's going to rob me, Karissa?"

"Someone," I say, shrugging. "This city's dangerous. There are bad  people everywhere here. I mean, maybe it's safe in other places, but not  New York City. It's safe for nobody here."

He reaches out and grasps my arm when I try to take a step away, keeping  me locked in place. His expression is serious, his eyes once more  surveying our surroundings before settling on me again. "Who told you  that? Your mother?"

"Yes. She's terrified I'm going to get robbed or raped or killed. She thinks it's bound to happen the longer I stay here."

"Nonsense," he says right away. "This is the safest big city in the  country. I'm not saying there aren't bad people out there, because there  are. I know there are. But it's nobody I'm afraid of, and I don't want  you to be afraid of anyone out there, either."

I don't know what to say, so I merely nod. He grabs our things, the  dresses and my shoes, and lugs them to the door with me beside him.  Melody begrudgingly follows us out after grabbing our school bags,  frowning as she stares back at the windows longingly. "I could live in  that place."

"Not me," I say. "One dress and a pair of shoes later, and I already feel like Vivian in Pretty Woman."

"There's no comparison," Naz interjects. "Besides, you haven't seen your necklace yet."





I thought he'd been joking.

I was hoping he was joking.

He'd done enough for me already.

But as I stand in his living room and stare at the large black velvet  box in his hand, I realize he meant it. The man bought me jewelry.

I don't know how to react, standing there in the long raspberry colored  dress, my knees weak as I try to balance in the pair of the highest high  heels. They make me nearly as tall as him, the two of us eye-level for  the first time. And in his eyes I see that darkness, the murkiness I  discover whenever his mask slips.

It should probably terrify me, but I feel only a slight chill.

At first glance I thought he was dressed normally, but closer inspection  tells me differently. He's wearing a three-piece suit, the vest making  him look sturdier than ever, the tie just as dark as the rest of it.  Glittery cuff links accent his white shirt-diamonds, I think. Something  tells me the man wouldn't wear anything fake. His shoes are shined, his  suit fitted, and a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket is  the same pristine white as his shirt.