Page 95 of The Strength Of A Woman

And I no longer like the dress I’m wearing.

It reminds me of the beautiful day we’ve spent outside, his hands on me, his lips on mine.

The first time he cupped a breast, I felt the need to have him slide himself between my legs.

I pick up a hairbrush and try to tame my mane before running my fingers under my eyes, putting mascara on my eyelashes, and smearing a nude shade of lipstick on my lips.

Eventually, I walk back to the room and go straight to the old armoire.

A few dresses hang on the hangers.

I inspect them, one by one, before I find something to replace my long dress.

It’s a skintight, halter-style, hourglass-shaped dress with a long zipper down the back and built-in cups for my chest.

I keep my panties after removing my flowing dress.

The new one looks good on me.

It’s white with a vibrant cherry pattern, and it makes me look like a young American actress from the fifties shooting a movie on the streets of Syracuse, Italy.

The occasion is dire, but the dress brightens things up for me.I won’t wear black at my funeral if that’s what’s next for me.

I hate these people.

More confident this time, I slip on a pair of heels and return to the dining table.

If it weren’t for the noise and persistent smell of gunpowder an hour ago, you’d think nothing bad happened this evening.

The food is still on the table. The wine in the glasses. The desserts spread artistically on a large porcelain plate with a dainty, lace-like border.

The flowers are still fresh, untainted, untouched by blood.

I know this scene could’ve looked quite different with blood on the snow-like linens, broken plates all over the floor, food tossed around the room.

The idea that I’d see this man wounded at some point or worse gives me shivers.

Luckily, he walks up the stairs, and my heart races until the moment he looms in the doorway.

Sharp-looking, his eyes burning with darkness and a smile.

He appears calm and collected.

Unfazed about what just happened.

And then he dips his eyes to my dress, and a flicker of lust threads through his stare, as a deep masculine need he’s kept concealed from me until now finally emerges.

I’m flattered and nervous at the same time.

“You’ve changed,” he says, walking toward me as I watch him from the patio door, with a hand planted on my hip, the other gripping the doorframe.

There’s no mention of what just happened.

Following his lead, I don’t make a fuss about it either.

His eyes move over my body with pleasure and anticipation. The kind I always wanted to ignite in a man’s eyes.

If the other dress made him guess, taunting him to no end, this one showcases my best assets.