Page 138 of Savior
Shopping has never really been a favorite activity of mine. Maybe because I’ve had to watch my money for years, scrounging to save whatever I could under Jack’s radar. And during my three years of hiding, I quickly learned to live without a lot. Constantly having to uproot and relocate, things start to feel like oppressive obligations. Like heavy chains wrapped around your limbs. It’s easier to run and hide when you don’t have a bunch of things slowing you down. My old life seems like a distant dream at this point. How I was before I met Jack. As I watch my care-free sister gush at over-priced garments in these high-end boutiques, which she’s been dragging me to all day, for the last two days, I wonder if this really does make her happy.
Sitting down in a fluffy chair that looks like someone skinned a collie, I watch as my sister admires a long, emerald green sequined gown that cascades elegantly over her perfect figure, in front of the three full-length mirrors in this fancy lounge of a changing room. She could wear anything and look great. And with our dad’s credit card at her disposal, I doubt she’s even looking at the crazy price tags.
“What do you think of this one?” She asks, for probably the thirtieth time today. “I think this is my favorite so far.”
“You look gorgeous in this one too. The green is stunning with your dark hair and olive skin.”
“Why do you sound so bored?” she practically groans. “How is this not fun for you? This is for your party, Vanna.”
“No, I didn’t ask for this.” I remind her. “You and mom took it upon yourselves to throw this little family gathering. Not me.”
“Well, don’t you think the family should meet your fiancée before you marry him?” she asks, twisting to look at me with her hands on her hips. “You need to pick a dress. We’re not done shopping until you do.”
I roll my eyes at her veiled threat as she turns back to the mirror, admiring herself again.
“What kind of dresses does Dean find attractive?” she asks.
I smile as I remember our first date at that fancy Italian restaurant. I had worn a body-con black mesh dress that night. He told me I unhinged his jaw, that I looked like I belonged on the cover of Italian Vogue. But a body-con dress is out of the question now. I’m not ready to show off my little bump just yet. And it will be that much more noticeable when they throw us this damn party in a few weeks. My family has no idea I’m pregnant. I don’t even have a wedding date to tell them yet. They’re going to flip out when they learn I got knocked up by a biker before he even married me.
“Vanna?” My sisters voice pulls me back to the present.
“Oh, umm… he likes black.” I say the first thing that comes to mind, though Dean has basically complemented me in every color I’ve worn around him.
“Figures.” She says with a sigh. “Well, what style are you thinking for yourself?”
“Something… flowy?”
She glances at me, fidgeting slightly with the skirt of the dress, as if she’s reluctant to comment, or ask me something.
“What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way.” She starts.
“Great. What?” I ask again, afraid she’s going to say something about how my mother insisted the dress we purchase for me today, is a size or two too small, to motivate me to fit into it by the party. One of the many reasons I’ve never looked forward to gift exchanging occasions, growing up. This has always been her custom with me, and it was always a letdown and a hurtful embarrassment.
“Does Dean own a proper suit?” she bites her lip. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Mom insisted I ask. If not, we’re allowed to get him something... No judgement!”
No judgement, my ass.
“They don’t need to get him anything.” I frown. Even if Dean didn’t own a suit, there’s no flipping way he’d ever accept this.
“Don’t be mad.” She pouts.
“I’m not.” I lie.
“Alright. Unzip me.” Giuliana says with determination. “Let’s find you something flowy.”
By the time we find a dress I’m comfortable wearing, and that at least meets my sister’s bare minimum style requirements for this party, the sun has already set, and I’m starving. All of this walking around down town in the historical district from boutique to boutique, feels like it’s been a marathon. If Dean knew we didn’t stop to eat, he’d be pissed at me.
“When are you heading back?” I ask.
“Tonight.” She replies, walking cheerfully with her shopping bags swaying at her side. “Why? Do you want me to move in?”
Dean would blow a gasket if I told him she was staying another night, let alone moving in. “I was wondering if you had time to get something to eat with me?”
“Sure. What’s good around here?”
“Dean and I mostly eat at home… I’m not sure.”
