I don't turn around as I hear him leave the room. Trying to still the thumping of my heart, I close my eyes and summon up an image of brooding eyes and low-slung slacks that reveal just enough to make a girl's inner goddess buy a hula hoop.
"He is not cheating on me," I say aloud, throwing the blanket on the floor and stomping into the bathroom. For a second I stare defiantly at the skinny, ordinary-looking girl in the mirror.
"He is NOT cheating on me." She glares back, offended I even needed to say it. Of course he isn't. He's hot-headed, arrogant, deeply flawed - but never unfaithful.
The water in the shower is so hot I can barely put my head under, but I love the feel of it sluicing down my back, around the curve and then down the length of my thighs. Unbidden, I recall the feel of Christian's hands on my ass, caressing me. Then, without warning, my breathing quickens and I remember the sharp pain of his belt on me. In a rush it all crowds back into my head. The smell of the sheets, the music, the helplessness. The fear. The sound of his voice.
I don't know how long it's been when my breathing finally slows. Sucking back the tears, I turn the shower off and start to rub the excess water away with one of the massive, fluffy towels constantly hanging fresh on the towel rack. The motion doesn't help, so I just curl it around my shoulders like a cape. My subconscious dressed in a long-sleeve sweater and black jeans, arms wrapped herself, is looking at me sympathetically. Cuddled into the softness of the towel, I sniff once and smile at her tremulously. It is all Jas... Taylor's fault. He comes into my bedroom, sitting there right next to me and telling me lies about the one man who loves me more than anything else in the world. And now I can't push the one big mistake Fifty made out of my head. I left him over it. Surely we've both been punished enough.
Resolving to let it, and the idea of a 21-year-old brunette named Kelly, out of my head, I finish drying off and slip into the dress Christian picked for me. I stand in front of the mirror and twirl, laughing as the skirt billows out. Standing still again to fix my hair, I look critically at myself. The material flows perfectly over me, hiding the assets I don't have. A fleeting doubt passes through my mind. After all, I'm not exactly model material. He could do better. Before I can think about it too deeply, I catch a flicker of movement in the mirror as the bedroom door swings open.
All my doubts are forgotten. My heart swells with pride and love as I watch my Christian stride in, perfectly attired in tailored black suit. It doesn't even matter how I look. Our connection goes deeper than that. Quickly pinning back the last stray strands of hair, I turn and smile at him. He looks back at me, a light shining in his eyes that sends my inner goddess into a swoon.
"Ready to go, Miss Steele?"