Beneath Your Beautiful, page 18
“You need to discuss this with Helen, because you won’t get anything from me.”
He pulls out a pale green cell phone and pops it on the wireless charger on the kitchen counter. “There. It should be done by the time we get back.”
I rub two fingers across my forehead, hoping to stave off the impending headache. “I can’t have a phone.”
“It’s registered in my name, and only myself and my grandmother will have the number, unless you want to add Samuel too.”
“Fine.”
He grins like he just won a battle. It should be fine. It’s not like I’m going to log into my emails and socials, which I’m one hundred percent sure Gideon is monitoring. Nothing bad can happen with a few contacts if it’s in Fox’s name.
“You can even take it with you at the end of the month when you leave if you want. I’ll continue to pay for the contract,” he adds.
And have him track me? I don’t think so. I’ve worked too hard and too long to be unraveled by a bodyguard with personal boundary issues.
I offer a noncommittal noise, making his lips twitch.
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you in the car.” He disappears into the guest room and closes the door. For thirty seconds, I debate leaving without him. But he will just follow, and I’ll never hear the end of it once he catches up to me.
I love bringing Duke to town. He growls at all the guys—apart from Fox—and gives happy vibes to all the women and kids. I think he’s a dog version of me.
Fox gets many admiring glances from the women passing us. A few greet him with a hi and a fluttering of their lashes. Save me now.
After grabbing fresh produce, we stroll toward Gary the fish guy. Fox has been suspiciously quiet, but that doesn’t mean he’s not attentive. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. He examines and catalogs every single move I make as he tries to pick apart my psyche. I can’t believe I kissed him. Not only kissed him, but straddled his lap like some sex-starved woman, then lost it over the feel of his erection. Is this where I’m at? Never having sex again? Maybe I should join a convent—the only place you aren’t judged for not having sex.
“You are thinking long and hard about something,” Fox says, breaking his stoic silence. I glance at him as my hand tightens around Duke’s leash. I blink before turning back and quickening my pace toward the stall at the end of the street. “This next month could be very long if you refuse to speak to me.”
“You didn’t ask a question, and what you said didn’t warrant a response.”
His gaze narrows. “I’m not buying that you aren’t schooled in the art of conversation.”
“I don’t care.”
We both turn to Gary, and his teenage daughter, Melissa, squeals when she sees Duke. She rounds the stall and drops to her knees in front of the big beast, giving him lots of ear scratches and love.
“Morning, Cleo,” Gary says with an eye roll at Melissa.
“Morning. How’s Kiera?” I ask. His wife sometimes helps out.
“Same old, same old. Chasing me to shower before I touch her with my fishy hands.”
My lips twitch. “How are her roses?” Kiera is a keen gardener whose roses were failing to bloom.
“Oh, she has two new buds! Thanks for the tip. She told me to give you a discount.”
I wave him off. “No need. Glad it helped.”
Gary’s eyes land on Fox. “So the prodigal son has returned?” Fox has been taking in the exchange between us with wide eyes. Yes, I do know how to be pleasant and sociable—I just choose not to be.
Fox folds his arms. “For a short time.”
“You need to stay home and look after your grandmother the way she looked after you.”
That’s unfair. It’s not the job of the children to look after their parents, and I know Helen would sooner climb into an early grave than be mollycoddled by her grandson. Helen is not a woman you take care of in the strictest sense. You support, turn up, ask what she needs, but you do not force yourself into her personal life.
“I am here for whatever she needs,” Fox responds. He gets it.
“What do you recommend today?” I ask, breaking the weird tension rolling off these two.
Gary blinks just as Melissa decides she’s done getting her puppy cuddles and returns to her father’s side. He glares at her. “Go wash your hands.” Melissa rolls her eyes in the overly dramatic way reserved for the teenage years before she skips off to the cafe.
“I have some meaty yellowfin tuna. Would go lovely with a Mediterranean salad and some lemon roast potatoes.”
“Sounds amazing,” Fox mutters. I agree, and we already have everything else needed. So we buy three tuna steaks and head back to the car. Fox places the fish in a cooler in the trunk as I open the back door and wait for Duke to decide to get his big ass in the car.
“Wait,” he says, shutting the trunk. I pause.
“What’s up?”
“Your surprise. Gran would murder me if I don’t get you there.”
I narrow my gaze. “What’s the surprise?”
He closes the car door and locks it before sliding Duke’s leash onto his wrist. “You know the definition of a surprise, right?” He chuckles at the thunder on my face. I huff as I follow him back onto the main street. He takes a left past the bakery and waves his hand at the door to the boutique.
I freeze, then take a step back. “Oh, no.”
He quirks a brow. “You mean the woman that stands on the bed waving a weapon around and shooting people in the middle of the night is afraid of a little dress shopping?”
My gaze goes flat. I have a love-hate relationship with my body. It’s complex, but putting myself in a situation where others are judging the clothing I’m selecting is a massive no-no.
“I don’t need a dress.”
“You are going on a date tomorrow. You absolutely need a dress.”
Oh, fuck. He’s right, and it’s too late to order something online. My shoulders drop and Fox holds open the door to the store. I storm inside and he follows me. I spin to face him. “What are you doing?” I snap.
“Taking you dress shopping.”
“I can handle this part on my own. Go wait in the car with Duke.”
Fox ignores me and drops his ass onto the pale pink velvet sofa facing the dressing room just as a woman maybe a decade older than myself swans into the store from the back room. Her blonde hair is highlighted to perfection and twisted up into a loose bun. Her subtle makeup speaks of years of practice. I tense. These are the kind of people I’ve spent months avoiding. It’s not that I think she will know Gideon, but it’s these circles I’ve avoided.
She grins. “I’m Lorraine, and you must be the lovely Cleo that Helen has told me about. So you have a hot date tomorrow.”
“Date, yes. Hot, no.”
She quirks a brow at Fox. “Mr. Alderidge, you have nothing to say about not being hot?”
“It’s not me she’s going on a date with.”
Lorraine’s eyes go wide. “It’s Samuel,” I declare before we have a postmortem of my dating future.
“Oh, good choice. Lots of muscles, and the rumor is he’s been blessed if you get my drift,” she says with a wink.
In the city, people are colder and more brutal, but ultimately, they don’t measure each other’s actual dicks. Red Lake is the opposite of that. It’s both a blessing and a curse that they are less interested in the national news over the local gossip.
“We need a couple options. One for tomorrow, and another for the follow-up date.”
There will be no follow-up date. I’m planning on being so painful to deal with that Samuel runs a mile the next time he sees me. But I’m not going to argue with a woman whose livelihood depends on sales and a man determined to make his grandmother’s wishes a reality. Better to suck it up now.
Lorraine eyes my frame with a frown then ushers me into the dressing room. Fox smirks at my pleading look before Lorraine yanks the curtain closed, shielding me from them. “Give me five minutes, Cleo, and I’ll have you feeling like a million dollars,” she sing-songs.
I’ve felt like a million dollars, and it’s not worth the price of my soul. I strip down to my underwear and wait for her to reappear.
She sweeps in with a fistful of hangers. “Oh my, you are hiding quite the hourglass figure under those ill fitting clothes. You know, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
I scowl at her. I’m not here for a hundred different lectures on my less than sunny demeanor.
“Try the white first,” she instructs. “Do you need help?”
“No, I can dress myself.”
She huffs but leaves me alone to try on the first item. It’s a floaty knee-length cotton dress which cinches at the waist and makes my boobs pop up. The little angel sleeves flutter, much like the skirt. I stare at myself in the mirror for a full minute, fighting the feelings of doubt and worry about dressing to attract the opposite sex.
“Are you coming out?” Fox asks.
I squeeze my eyes closed and sigh. “Sure.”
I rip the curtain back and step into the store. Fox looks up from his phone, and his eyes go wide. Anyone would think he’s never seen a girl in a dress before.
“It’s so—”
“Innocent,” Fox finishes with a shake of his head.
Lorraine claps her hands. “Are you saying yes to the dress?”
Someone has been watching too much reality TV. “To the virginal sacrifice dress?” I snark.
“No,” Fox mutters. “It’s not you.”
Lorraine scowls at the pair of us before ushering me back to the changing room and thrusting a pale blue version of the dress in my hands. When that doesn’t satisfy neither me nor Fox, she opts for a shorter sunshine number. Yellow doesn’t suit me.
I’m on dress six, a little black number that might be perfect for heading to a cocktail bar in the city, but won’t work for a date in Red Lake at the bar and grill. There is such a thing as trying too hard.
“One more,” she declares, ripping the black one off my body and replacing it with a dark green sheath dress that is so close to something I owned when I was with Gideon, it gives me goosebumps.
“Hmm, not exactly showing off the goods, but I guess you need to leave something to the imagination,” Lorraine declares, pushing me out to see Fox. He glances up from rubbing Duke’s belly and shakes his head.
“Why don’t you have a look around, see if anything catches your eye that I haven’t already pulled for you,” Lorraine declares as she leaves the room and heads out back, probably to message Helen about how difficult I am proving to be.
I wander around the edges of the store, running my hands along the many dresses and outfits. Fox rises and does the same. He pauses over a strappy silver number. I shake my head. “Too much for a date I don’t want to go well,” I mutter.
“True, but you should still get to feel pretty while you break Samuel’s poor golden heart.”
“Not helping.” My hand pauses on a blood-red dress. It would sit just above my knees, the V neck would show enough cleavage to feel feminine, and the simple button up A-line design would skim my curves without indicating that I am looking for anything more.
It’s perfect. Apart from…
“Yes, that’s the one,” Fox states over my shoulder. “Try it on.”
I swallow and shove it back on the rail. “It’s not my color.”
“Lies, Cleo, we agreed.” I slant a look at him before snatching a similar design in black. Like the pits of my soul, this seems more apt.
“Lorraine, I found a dress,” I shout, placing it on the counter before disappearing back inside the changing room to pull on my own clothing.
There’s some quiet conversation taking place and then a light tinkling laughter that is definitely not coming from Lorraine. I snap the curtain back, finding Fox holding the handles of the bag containing my dress, but his gaze is squarely lasered on the absolutely stunning woman in front of him. Legs up to her armpits, shiny bobbed icy-blonde hair, and an ass that people pay for. She glances over her shoulder at me. I hate her on principle. She grins her pearly whites at me. Sharks have looked less predatory.
“Oh my days, you must be Cleo. Samuel has told me all about you.”
“Yet I’m completely clueless who you are.”
Her hand rises to her chest, drawing attention to her breasts accentuated by a well-fitted white blouse. “Where are my manners? I’m Amalee Cage. We’re double dating tomorrow with the town’s hunks.”
I throw up a little in my mouth. Who says hunks? There’s a slight softening in Fox’s eyes that I don’t like. Wait, what? Who cares? Not me. But was it her room he was sitting in last night? Was it her who was in his lap kissing him? No… but then again, she won’t freak out over a little dry humping. Now I hate her for being a precious princess while I’m a broken bitch. If that is my competition, I concede defeat now.
“I just know we are going to be the best of friends,” she continues. Not fucking likely, she’s the type of girl I’ve always avoided like the plague, through school and college. Fake princesses always rubbed me the wrong way. Be yourself, because if that’s not good enough for those people around you, then they aren’t worth your time. I knew those wise words even as a child, but it didn’t stop me from being snatched up by an evil man who set about destroying the very core of my being so he could remake me to his exacting specifications. Being perfect is exhausting. I won’t ever change myself to be what I think someone wants again. Which is why I’ll end up a weird cat lady who scares the crap out of kids on Halloween. That thought makes me smile.
Amalee spins to face Fox again before dropping a quick kiss on his cheek and leaving a smear of pink lip gloss. Ew. Did we not stop wearing that when we hit twelve? Just me? Okay then. She gives me a simpering wave and swishes out of the door with glitter and rainbows under her feet. I’m not being literal, but she walks around like she’s never known a bad thing in her life. I envy her.
I drag my lip between my teeth, feeling a little self conscious about the fact I wear zero makeup. I’m not the sort of woman a man like Fox would ever want. He’s got all those muscles and that dark and broody attitude that makes women swoon at his feet. Still, it wasn’t her room he was in, whispers an insidious voice in my mind. I swat it away as we exit the store and climb into the car.
“I want my truth,” he says as he puts the car into drive. I squeeze my eyes closed. Here it comes. “Why don’t you wear red?”
I suck in a breath and toy with the answer, worrying this is too close to revealing something about my past that could identify me. But that’s a lie, and we agreed no lies. I’m sick of it anyway. At some point, I have to trust someone; it’s exhausting always checking your responses. Fox isn’t here to hurt me, and in a month, I’ll be gone.
“Back before him, it was my favorite color. It’s the very color I was wearing when I met him on a fateful rainy evening.” I lean my head against the cool window. “Perhaps if I had been wearing something less attention seeking, I wouldn’t have attracted the devil.”
“So you don’t wear it because it reminds you of him?” he asks. His voice is carefully neutral, like he’s holding himself in check.
“No.” My lips pull up in a sad smile. “I don’t wear it because he, the devil, said it was the color of sin, of a whore, and after we were married, he had it eradicated from my wardrobe. Most things that gave me joy were slowly erased over time, so by the time I was stripped bare, with only him in my life, I had nothing left to cling to. So no, it’s not because it reminds me of him. It’s because he spent a great deal of time infecting my mind with the poison that to wear the color I love meant I was a slut.”
“Colors don’t make people sluts. I despise that word. Who in the hell thinks it’s okay to call another human being a slut for their perceived notion of what is acceptable behavior? If it’s legal, then folks should just mind their own business. They aren’t hurting anyone. We aren’t living in biblical times. It makes my faith in humanity shrivel whenever I hear this kind of shit.”
“This shit is nothing, Fox. The stories I could tell you won’t just make your humanity shrivel, it will make your balls turn tail and tuck inside your ass to escape the disgust.”
“Graphic imagery.”
“You have no idea.”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in his mind. I don’t prompt whatever it is he’s thinking. He will either explain, or not. In thirty seconds I will regret that thought…
“So,” he begins. “You have a husband?”
Fuck.
CHAPTER 27
FOX
Is obsession a personality flaw?
I’m unwinding the puzzle that is Cleo Williams one careful strand at a time, and she’s letting me. To heal, you have to face your demons head on, and for Cleo, that means opening up to someone who won’t use her demons against her. I think she may have told my gran some snippets, but I can see the darkness she has experienced is buried deep and has its claws around her heart.
She disappears into the kitchen as soon as we arrive home, muttering about preparing lunch and making sure Samuel is on target. I head to the pool house, deep in thought.
Samuel. I’m not sure why he’s trying so hard. He can get any woman in Red Lake to fall for him with a look and he chooses the one who fights him? He’s clueless how to handle someone like Cleo. He will panic the second he sees the beautiful yet chaotic mess underneath her exterior. Cleo doesn’t need a nice guy; she needs a strong one.
I drop the dress she chose onto her bed with a frown. At best, it’s basic, at worst, it’s bland—neither of which suit her. Opening her closet, I grab a couple of hangers and then write her a small note which I tack on before closing the door. My gaze lands on the duffle bag she was planning on making her escape with only a few nights ago. What worldly possessions does she deem important enough to carry with her as she runs?
My fingers twitch as I try to talk myself out of looking. Then it’s like my hands have a mind of their own and before I’m even aware of it, I’ve unzipped it and I’m rummaging around in what is essentially a bug out bag. It contains everything she’d need for at least two weeks of survival. My fingers graze across some strings.
