The Isle Of Sin And Shadows - Keri Lake Page 0,141
toward my boobs.
It’s rare that I find a dress that doesn’t make me look like a porn star in it, and I’m beginning to think that maybe it was a bad idea to come along with him today.
“Céleste?” Francesca says, from behind the curtain.
I open it to find her holding up a black dress I dismissed. One that looked a bit too casual and plain on the hanger.
“It’s simple, but I’ve found it’s the ones we think are plain on the outside that end up being the most beautiful.”
With a genuinely gracious smile, I accept the dress, trying to decode whether, or not, she just called me plain on the outside. Closing the curtain again, I stand staring at it hanging from the hook. Black. I never wear black. Black draws the eyes to my pale skin and, inevitably, my scars. My scars incite unwanted questions. Unfortunately, I’m not having much luck with any of the other dresses, though.
With a sigh, I reluctantly change into the dress.
The modest V-neck sits just above my breasts, with only a hint of cleavage, and tapers into a perfect empire waist, which blooms into a simple straight hem that hangs to just above my knees. So simple and beautiful, it’s the kind of dress I don’t have to fidget in, or pull at to make sure it isn’t riding up somewhere it shouldn’t. Nor is it obscenely sexy, showing off parts of me I don’t think his sister will appreciate. Yet, my skin practically glows against the dark fabric, and with it, every flaw I don’t want seen. The usual hideous styles I wear, short shorts and patterns that never match, tend to serve as distractions, a shield for the defects on my skin that invariably lead to questions. The simplicity of this dress makes me feel exposed. Practically naked.
The only thing left to look at is me.
When I exit the dressing room this time, Thierry’s eyes are on me, and something different swirls in them. Something that makes my stomach flutter.
The man has seen me without a stitch of clothing, but suddenly I feel as if he’s seeing me for the first time. On instinct, I cup my jaw, hiding the scar there. “It’s … plain. I guess.”
“It’s perfect,” he counters.
Arms crossed, Francesca stands off to the side, offering a nod of approval. “The epitome of class and sophistication.”
Sophistication? That’s a word I’ve never associated with myself. Unrefined always seemed to fit so much better.
With a nod, I back myself into the dressing room, and trip over my boots, catching myself on the wall.
The epitome of sophistication.
I feel like Mr. & Mrs. Smith strolling up to the entrance of the hospital, hand in hand with Thierry. I’ve always opted for vibrant, sometimes obnoxious, colors. Low cut, high cut. Clunky boots. This outfit is so sleek and elegant, with the black strappy shoes that Francesca paired with it, I don’t even know how to act.
“You look ravishing,” Thierry says beside me, as if my apprehensions are painted across my face. Maybe they are. “I want to ravish you right now, in fact.”
“Well, right now, I’m trying to pay attention to not tripping in these sandals, so maybe wait until I’m a little more practiced?”
With a smirk, he leads me up to the receptionist, who smiles expectantly as we approach. “Mr. Blake, how nice to see you again.”
It’s then I feel a slight squeeze of my hand.
Mr. Blake.
That must be the name he gave them. I get it.
“Thank you, Natalie. This is Carly. She’ll be accompanying me today.”
After nearly a decade of hiding my identity, I’m impressed to find a man who so fluently hides his own, like a second skin.
Like two cunning cons.
“Thank you. Enjoy your visit.” Natalie hands off passes to both of us, and I take a moment to clip it to my breast, while Thierry’s is clipped to the lapel of his jacket.
Standing in front of the elevator, I take in the reflection of the two of us in the stainless steel doors, and my breath hitches at how normal we appear. He, a money laundering wolf with a murderous past, and me … well, just not me.
We could be anyone.
The elevator dings, opening to an older couple, who step off, and I smile politely as I slip past them when they exit. Once the doors close, I feel Thierry’s hand toying with the hem of my dress, and his breath fans my neck when he leans into me.