Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You’ve been staying out more and more nights. Amani, is something wrong?”
“I’m fine. I promise you I’m fine. I’m more than fine.” He smiled, leaning back into her, then stood, turning to lift the garment bag down from the closet door and unzip it across his bed. “Could you help me with this dress?”
With his mother’s help, he slipped into the delicate confection of sheer ivory and silver organza laid out inside the bag—a takchita Penny had designed just for him, the under-layer of the tahtiya a thing of sleeveless mist, a translucent and clinging slip that trailed to the floor and clung to his body with his every movement, only to be caged by the heavier fouqia overlayer: the same translucent ivory, an open-front dress with its edges and hems crusted in patterned metallic silver embroidery speckled with tiny seed pearls, high-waisted and clasped at the front with worked silver closures. Alone, each layer would have been indecent, but together they blended and flowed to drape around him until the darkness of his skin was a shadow of suggestion underneath, while the dress trailed behind him like a royal train, the overlong embroidered sleeves falling to mingle with the skirt and slit from shoulder to wrist to leave his arms mostly bare and draped in ribbons.
He felt like he wore the moon, in this dress.
Like he wore the moon, and tread on paths of stars.
“Amani,” his mother said as they stood before the mirror, her voice choked with emotion, and he gripped her hand tight.
“Mama.” He looked up, though, as he caught the sound of a car pulling up outside the house. He still wasn’t sure about letting Vic pick him up, but it was easier than taking the subway in this dress, and if he’d tried to dress at Vic’s apartment they’d have ended up naked and skipping the gala. He took a shaky breath, smoothing his hands over the front of his gown, then racing to catch up the strappy silver heels Penny had found him to match, nearly tripping over his train as he bent to tug them on. “He’s here.”
His mother folded her arms over her chest pointedly. “Who is ‘he’?”
“My client. It’s a business function.”
“You wear things like this for business?” She moved to the window and flicked the curtains aside, peering out. “Isn’t that the handsome man from Dehbi? The one you told to leave?”
Amani winced and tried an innocent smile. “…maybe…”
“So he’s not married, then.”
“Mama!” Laughing, he tugged her close and kissed her cheek, then wiped away the trace of shimmer gloss left behind with his thumb. “I have to go. Love you.”
She patted his cheek, then gave him a gentle shove. “Enjoy yourself, love. You deserve it.”
Feeling light as though he drifted on petals, Amani caught up the long, satiny white cloak Penny had stitched for him against the winter night, is inner lining felted and warm and heavy, wrapping around him to protect both him and the dress. Gathering up his train past its folds, he slipped out to the front door and stepped out onto the porch—only to go still as he saw Vic standing there, trim-cut and devilishly handsome in a perfectly fitted tuxedo that had been made to love his debonair, beautifully crafted lines, trapping a thing of power inside the skin of a thing of grace.
And he was leaning against a gleaming black stretch limousine, rakishly slouched, hips canted forward, legs crossed at the ankles, looking far too pleased with himself for his own good.
“A limo?” Amani laughed breathlessly as he strode down the steps and the walk, bringing him closer and closer to Vic. “You had to show up in this neighborhood in a limo? Extra.”
“Always.” Vic looked down at him with eyes that seemed to see only him, warm with desire, lighting up the night inside Amani with brilliance—before they crinkled at the corners with amusement as Vic glanced past him. “Is that your mum?”
Amani looked over his shoulder. His mother was peering out through the window again, and he sighed—only to splutter as Vic lifted his hand in a wave. “Yes. Don’t wave to her?”
“Why not?”
“You are just too much.”
Utterly unrepentant, Vic bowed, sweeping the door open with an inviting gesture. “I guess I’m a little too disobedient sometimes.”
Amani ducked into the limo, carefully gathering the voluminous layers of fabric around him and piling them in with him, before shifting over to make room for Vic. “Sometimes?”
Vic slipped in and closed the door, then signaled to the driver; the limo pulled out from the curb, while Vic turned those winter-blue eyes back on Amani. His gaze drifted over him as if wondering what secrets he hid underneath his cloak, before rising to capture Amani with his gaze as he offered a slow, inviting smile.