Sold to the Hitman(26)
9
Andrei
“I’m not sure it’s the best fit, Cassie…”
“Oh, it’ll be fine, those big jackets of yours are supposed to cover everything to keep you warm, right?”
I try not to smile in bemusement as I watch Cassie struggle to pull one of my massive winter coats over her shoulders. It nearly engulfs her entire body, and as she pulls the hood up over her head, it falls over her eyes, and I can’t hold back a laugh.
It’s mid-morning, and I’m taking Cassie out.
“Perhaps we should do some clothes shopping while we’re in the city,” I venture. I figure it’s about time for this poor girl to experience a little more style than what her father and mother picked out for her.
She’s wearing one such ensemble under my jacket, and it’s a bit like looking at a sepia-toned antique photo. A long brown skirt runs down to touch the knees, and a beige sweater covers up most of that. Her shoes are a little clunky, and her socks aren’t nearly long enough to cover her shins. Even that bit of exposed skin manages to make her look modest.
“Brighton Beach is still NYC, so if you’re going to live down here, you might like to dress the part,” I add on.
“Well what’s wrong with this?” she cries, pulling the hood down and sticking her lip out at me in protest. “I know it isn’t the most modest thing in the world, but everyone at church seemed okay with it.”
I raise my eyebrows at her and help her find her way out of my jacket. “Yes, well, I think you might like a little more variety than the one suitcase you brought with you. A husband ought to provide for his wife, don’t you think?”
I see the hint of a smile play across her lips, and she bats her eyelashes up at me, though I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it. “Alright. One store.”
* * *
The Lower East Side is already bustling with activity at this hour, and Cassie can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the window.
I can’t help but chuckle, glancing over at her awestruck expression.
“Don’t laugh,” she chides, though she quickly bites her lip in embarrassment, before adding on more reverentially, “I hardly left my own neighborhood is all.”
“Well don’t lose all your energy taking in the crowds, we aren’t even at the Orchard Street district yet.”
She tilts her head at me curiously, and as she opens her mouth, I cut her off before the question escapes her lips.
“No, it isn’t an apple farm, it’s just a shopping area.”
A few minutes later, we’ve parked, and even as Cassie walks with both her arms wrapped around one of mine as she shivers in the brisk air, her eyes are wandering all over the scenery around her.
The Historic Orchard Street district is busy, but the commotion only adds to the powerful heartbeat of the area.
“Andrei, this place is like something out of a movie! I didn’t even know you could put this many clothing stores in one place! Don’t they all just end up selling the same kind of stuff?”
“You didn’t go on shopping trips with your mother very much, did you?”
“No, most of it came from church yard sales, why?”
I laugh and hold her tighter to me, and she gives an adorable little squeak as I half-lift her up off the ground. I can only imagine what a magical experience the sights and sounds of this place must be for her.
The internationality of the area is what really seems to grab her. I let her gently tug at my arm lead us to just about every window on the stretch of street we walk down, and she indulges nearly every beckoning merchant urging us to come see their wares.
I find myself smiling a little more with each distraction. She begs me to take her into a little Turkish coffee shop, and a moment later, I’m trying to warn her not to burn herself on the bitter drink she’s never tasted before. I end up drinking most of hers for her, but even the little bit she gets into her system puts an extra spring in her step.
She seems to have boundless energy, but small as she is, her teeth keep chattering, so I stop at one of the cart vendors and let her pick out a hand-knit scarf to wrap herself in. She chooses a pink and white one with little pom-poms on the tassels, and I show her how to wrap it properly so it fits snug, but not too tight.
After what feels like hours, I feel her slowing down at my side.
“What’s the matter, coffee crash hitting you already?”
“Hm? Oh, oh no, nothing,” she waves off, but I notice that she was looking towards one of the shops, and I follow her gaze. There’s a large clothing boutique on a street corner, and there are elaborate designs adorning the legion of mannequins in the windows.