But here, in the big city, women wore the bright colors. The streets of New York are a veritable rainbow of different types of fashion and beauty. I never knew this many options even existed! I always learned that there is only one kind of acceptable look, and it’s the same one every girl and woman back home adheres to. The same one I always wore, too.
And now, I look at myself in the floor-length mirror hanging on the back of the closet door and gasp at the sight. My body is adorned in such jewel-like colors, shiny and complex fabrics and textures, unlike anything I’ve ever seen, much less worn. The girl in the mirror looks like some stranger, even though my face is the same. Like my face has been cut and pasted onto some other girl’s body. I am suddenly acutely aware of the fact that there is no makeup on my face. Prior to coming into New York City, I never even considered it necessary or even desirable.
Makeup, my father says, is just an earthly tool meant to deceive and ensnare the weak-hearted. But what I saw today has opened my mind and given me a different perspective. I see the way people use clothing and makeup to express themselves, and I wonder if it can be yet another way to explore the glory of what God has created in the human race.
I’m interrupted from my reverie by Andrei’s knock on the closet door.
“Are you ready?” asks his deep voice from the other side of the door, and I feel a wave of nervous nausea rush over me. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. But I slowly open the door anyway, and when Andrei sees me, he almost cracks a smile.
Almost. But that hard expression hardly twitches at all, even though his eyes do soften a bit when they look me up and down. I find myself wanting more than anything to bring more softness into his life. I want him to be happy and light and warm, and I am determined to give him a million reasons to feel those things.
“I think so,” I answer bashfully, looking down at my new shoes.
“You look lovely.”
My eyes snap up at the compliment and I’m unable to suppress a wide grin, my cheeks getting flushed. He is my husband and I want to please him for that reason, but there is also a genuine, organic desire growing in me to gain his approval, to be what he wants.
What he paid for.
“Thank you.”
He has something in his hands, I realize, and I blink. “What’s that?” It looks like a little black square that he’s holding somewhat awkwardly, like he isn’t used to it.
“A Kindle,” he says in his light accent, and hearing it come from his voice makes me smile a little. “I’m sure you spent some moments reading with all that time to yourself, so I thought…” He trails off and ends up simply holding the little e-reader out to me. “It apparently can hold tens of thousands of books, and I already entered my payment details, so you can buy whatever you like.”
“Th-thank you,” I say as I take it into my hands and look it over, a little taken aback, but honestly, part of me wants to jump in bed with it immediately. We’d had nothing like that back home, but I was always fascinated by the idea of a tiny little device that could hold such a wealth of information.
He offers his arm to me a little stiffly, looking like a rugged, bad-boy prince in his black leather jacket, pressed white button-up shirt, and dark jeans. I hesitantly take his arm, then lean into him a little more, trying to relax. After all, we did spend the whole day together.
And last night we were awfully close…
“So where exactly are we going?” I ask him as I set the Kindle aside for later while he silently drapes a new brown peacoat over my shoulders. He leads me out into the hallway and into the elevator, dodging the question until the elevator doors close.
Then he says quietly, “We’re going to a place where I feel a little more at home.”
“But where is that?”
Andrei gives me a sidelong glance, his dark eyes falling on me and sending a little thrill down my spine. There is just something so mysterious and enigmatic about his eyes — that spellbinding, soul-reading, black stare.
Again, surrounded by the mirrored walls of the elevator chamber, I am startled by how sharply our looks contrast. Every aspect of his countenance is dark, heavy, nearly predatory. Beside him, I am pastel and dreamy-eyed, a pale waif sharing the air with a big, bad wolf.
“Aren’t you going to tell me? Is it a secret?” I press him, cocking my head to the side.
Finally, when we get into his Corvette and he starts the engine, he answers me.
“We’re going to a place called Brighton Beach. There’s a large population of Russkiys living in the area.”
A beach? I am definitely confused now. I know that I have led a very sheltered life, and there is so much I don’t know about the world, but it seems very unusual to go out to a beach in the middle of the night when it’s this cold out.