“After I ascertain all is well, I’ll ask her opinion about the menu.”
Noc grinned.
His little schemer.
She could connive all she wanted.
Circe wasn’t going to taste anything either.
Hell, what he saw last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if Dax swept his dining-room table free of dishes and food, and Circe climbed up herself necessitating Franka and Noc giving them some privacy.
This meant he was doing his woman on the dining-room table that night.
If anyone was going to fuck there, it was going to be him and his sweet little schemer who broke the seal.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Happy?
Franka
“Not that one, the one you had on before,” Josette declared.
It was late the next afternoon and Jo and I were lounging atop Noc’s bed, Valentine standing at its side behind us, as Circe stood in the doorway of Noc’s bathroom having just shown us the third outfit she’d brought to wear for our dinner with Dax.
“I prefer the first, that little dress you showed us is very flattering,” I stated.
“I’d prefer not to be here,” Valentine murmured from behind us.
I rolled partially to my back and aimed a glower at her.
She visibly sighed and crossed her arms on her chest.
“Isn’t the dress too revealing?” Circe asked, and I looked back to her.
“Precisely,” I answered, and it was, though only legs, arms, shoulders, a hint of cleavage and nearly all of her back.
“It’s a dinner at Noc’s house, don’t you think it should be more casual?” Jo asked me. “This one seems, for this world, businessy.” She flung an arm out at Circe who was now wearing a slim skirt, a satin blouse and a rather becoming pair of what was known in this world as “pumps.” “The jeans and cute little blouse say confident and at home,” she went on.
“The jeans have rips in them,” I pointed out.
“It’s the fashion here, Frannie,” Jo returned. “You’ve seen it, surely.”
“I have and it’s beyond me,” I replied and carried on, “Why would anyone wear anything that was torn? It makes no sense. Furthermore, those jeans don’t go all the way to her ankles and they’re ill-fitting.”
“They’re skinny jeans and they’re cropped. That’s the way they’re supposed to be too,” Josette rejoined.
“And both, as well, are beyond me,” I asserted.
“Yes, well, Circe has a fine arse and those jeans do wonders for it,” Jo shot back. “Now, you also have a fine arse. So I suggest you put them on and saunter out to see how Noc reacts when he sees you in them. Then you can say it’s beyond you.”
She had a point. Circe’s bum looked spectacular in those jeans.
And although my legs, neck, mouth and hair were my best features (this I didn’t think because of conceit, but rather because Noc told me), I also had been made aware that I had a rather alluring backside (this Noc had demonstrated to me).
Perhaps the jeans weren’t a bad idea.
“That blouse,” Valentine stated. “With the jeans and those pumps. Undo at least one more button on the blouse, or if you feel you can carry it off, two. The thin gold necklace that comes to the point at your breastbone and dangles in chains that you were wearing when you arrived. The hoop earrings you wore with the first outfit. And for the love of the goddess, wear your hair down. You’ve an extraordinary face, neck and collarbone, but that hair should not be hidden. Not tonight.”
“By Hermia, that would be perfect, casual but still dressy as well as unique,” Jo breathed with keen approval.
I turned my gaze from Valentine to Circe, envisioning this ensemble in my head and thinking that Valentine was onto something.
Circe caught my eyes.
“I approve,” I declared.
Josette sat up in the bed, bounced on her bum and clapped, crying, “It’s unanimous!”
A sudden, alarming expression stole over Circe’s face.
I tensed.
She muttered, “I may be sick,” and dashed into the bathroom.
I looked only briefly to Josette then to Valentine before I pushed up from the bed and dashed after her.
I closed the door behind me as I entered to see she was standing before the toilet deep breathing.
I did not get close but I did not stop far.
“My dear,” I said softly.
She looked to me.
“I don’t know…” she shook her head. “I don’t know…” she repeated, drew in a breath then forged on, “It’s silly, ridiculous even. I saw him. I saw his face. The look in his eyes when he gazed at me. I saw. And I don’t understand.” She threw out her hands at her side helplessly. “Why am I so nervous?”
“Because you’ve been taught not to want anything at the same time being taught that every second of your life can only bring you to new levels of pain, so you’ve been taught not to hope,” I answered. “Now, there’s hope. More than hope, a promise. And it frightens you.”
“Yes, that’s it,” she murmured, looking to the toilet.
“Step away from there,” I ordered gently.
I watched her struggle to calm herself as she did as she was told and came closer to me.
I reached out and took both of her hands.
“I understand this feeling,” I shared. “Perhaps not precisely as you’re feeling it, but I can assure you, when the threat that was always looming from my parents was swept away, I could not find it in myself to comprehend how to live a life without that threat darkening every moment.”