“Yes, the clothes have been arriving for a while.”
For a while.
Rett has had this planned...for a while.
With each of Ian’s answers and my subsequent revelations, my chest grew heavier. “I don’t understand.”
Ian forced a smile. “Mr. Ramses believes you deserve the best.”
I looked again at the rack as I circled it one direction and then the other, my bare feet moving me forward. Finally, I asked, “How will I wear all of these?”
“I would assume, miss, one at a time.”
A quick turn of my head and I saw that the man without humor was trying to be humorous. While that was sweet, the clothes were overwhelming. “I mean, I won’t be here that long...” —I turned to his gray eyes— “will I?”
“I’m sure that Mr. Ramses’s intention was for you to have choices, not that you would wear every one of them.”
Wringing my hands, I walked around the rack again, letting Ian’s reasoning settle over me. “Yes, choices.” I pulled one of the hangers from the rack. The style was simple—a halter top and an empire waist with a flowing skirt. When I held the dress up to me, the hem fell to just above my knees. “I like this one.”
Ian nodded.
“You can take the rest away.”
“But Mr. Ramses said—”
Hugging the dress to my chest, I forced a smile. “Please, Ian.”
“Miss North.”
I inhaled, feigning the strength and determination I was losing by the second. “I get the feeling you’re supposed to protect me, keep me safe?”
“Yes, when Mr. Ramses isn’t available.”
My mind couldn’t go to the question of my safety when Mr. Ramses was present. Instead, I forged ahead. “May I confess something to you?”
“I can’t promise that I won’t convey your message to Mr. Ramses.”
“I understand that, and I appreciate your honesty. It’s all right if he knows.” I needed to say aloud what I was thinking and feeling, a verbal affirmation that I was struggling. “I’m” —I shrugged— “overwhelmed. He said to rest, but resting gives me time to think, and thinking allows me to ponder what the hell is happening, and I appreciate the computer, but I’m not in a mind space to write a story, I can’t even concentrate on reading, and if I would write, it would be the story I’m living right now, which is pretty unbelievable even for fiction, so instead, I’m taking in the sunshine, forcing the minutes to add up to hours, placing one foot in front of the other, and uttering one word in front of the other in a very long run-on sentence, and I can’t” —I took a breath as I ran my fingers over the entire rack— “pretend to be okay with two weeks’ or more worth of dresses. I can handle one dress for one night.”
Ian nodded. “The blue one is lovely.” He reached for the rack. “I’ll take this away and bring it back” —he smiled— “tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
He stilled. “There are shoes.”
“More than one pair?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Holding the dress, I sat on the edge of the bed.
“They’re supposed to be your size,” Ian went on. “Perhaps if you told me a color I could bring fewer choices.”
Trying to regulate my breathing, I nodded. “I think we can work with that.”
A few moments later, he returned with three pairs of nude high-heeled shoes in different styles with different heights of heels. I chose the pair in the middle. There was no good reason for that choice on my part. I didn’t try them on or pretend to walk as if I were in a store. I simply reached forward and chose.
My current state of mental endurance was aided by lack of thinking.