VIKTOR TARASOV
Two P.M. sharp the next day, Dahlia burst out of the salon clad in a pair of low rise, form-fitting jeans that hugged her hips and thighs like a glove and flared out at the knees, falling over her heeled boots. Shocker there.
I hadn't seen her before I left the house this morning, but immediately I wrapped up my important work, I'd made my way to the salon the chauffeur told me he'd taken her to. That was an hour ago, and I hadn't alerted her of my presence, mainly because she hadn't gotten her phone back.
Her steps briefly slowed when she noticed me standing outside, waiting for her instead of her assigned driver, but she continued her walk towards me, straightening her shoulders to appear taller.
I wondered if the reason she wore heels a lot was because she wanted to appear taller than her five-foot-six frame. It didn't do her much favors seeing as I still towered over her no matter how high her heels were.
She cleared her throat as she stood in front of me. "I didn't know you'd be here. Where's the driver?"
"I sent him off," I answered absent-mindedly as my eyes glided over her body, looking for any signs of distress or hurt.
Was it extra given that she'd only come to get her hair done? Yes. But I did it anyway.
"My eyes are up here, dog," she huffed when she caught me staring at her chest after my complete perusal of her body.
I couldn't help it. Her long-sleeved burgundy sweater was only zipped up halfway, showing off her cleavage and the black lace of her bra. The tiny sweater stopped midway across her torso, exposing the curve of her slender waist.
I wanted to hide her in the car before another person got to feast their eyes on her, but it was too late. She already earned looks from passersby, but she didn't seem to notice any of them.
I finally dragged my eyes up to her face, and she didn't look too amused. "I can't help that my wife looks so breathtaking. It's nearly impossible to tear my eyes off."
She rolled her eyes, turning her head to the side, but not quick enough before I caught the tiny amusement in her hazel eyes. "Let's go. I didn't reapply my sunscreen, and I'd rather not fry under the sun."
"Aye, aye, ma'am." I opened the passenger seat of my Porsche, letting her slide in before I shut the door.
I made the turn, and immediately I buckled my seatbelt, she began speaking again. "You know, you suck at this husband-ing thing."
"Do I?"
"I mean, I'm no expert myself, but I'd compliment my wife after her beauty maintenance. I'm sure many men would, too, but what do I know?" She popped a shoulder casually. "I've never been married."
"Ah." A smirk tipped the corner of my lips when the implication of her words sunk in. "You want me to compliment you."
"No!" She objected vehemently, digging into her purse to avoid looking at me. Her now straightened hair fell like a curtain across her face, shielding it away from me. "I don't want anything from you. Why would I want compliments from you? You're weird, remember?"
When she was done with her spiel, I reached forward, tucking her hair behind her ear, so I could get a good look at her face again. "You're beautiful, Dahlia. Always. And your hair looks beautiful." My eyes darted down to her short nails painted a soft, baby pink. I slipped my fingers between hers to admire them better, smiling to myself. This color was so her. "I love your nails, too." I lifted her hand up to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You'll always be beautiful in my eyes, no matter what."
She yanked her hand out of my grip like I'd scalded her, and in typical Dahlia fashion, she turned away to hide her face away from me again.
It was one thing I'd noticed in our short time together. Whenever she was embarrassed, she avoided looking at me, but thanks to this recent interaction, I shelved my recent finding into a file in my brain specifically dedicated to her.
She liked compliments.
Back then, she never really voiced her thoughts unless under the influence of alcohol, so maybe this was an upside to the new Dahlia. Her outspokenness would be an opportunity to learn more about her.
"Do you want to grab lunch first before we head to your apartment? Did you have breakfast before you left this morning?"
"No, and yes. And to your first question, I don't want to eat junk from fast food restaurants right now."
"We could always find healthier options around," I suggested.
She shook her head, dismissing the suggestion. "I'll just eat when I get home. I want to get the apartment shtick over with before you change your mind."
We both knew I wouldn't change my mind, but I let her get away with the obvious subject change. Time. That was all I needed. And patience too. I'd need a truckload of that. With time, she'd learn she could trust me, and we could work toward addressing and fixing some of her issues. Her eating habits, especially.
"Speaking of changing minds, I heard you asking around for my name. I thought you knew it. What changed?"
"You're just making stuff up. That never happened."
"Yeah? Then should we consult the staff when we get home? Quite a number of them had something to say."
After she'd run off into her room yesterday, I knew she'd go around asking for my name, because her pride wouldn't let her ask me directly after she'd lied. Anticipating that, I'd told the entire staff to keep their mouths shut when she asked for my name, and they'd all reported back to me.
As expected, my wife had gone around asking every staff she'd come across this morning for my full name, and each one of them had denied knowing.
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Those betrayers. I knew it was suspicious when they all said they only knew you as Mr. Tarasov." She huffed, crossing one leg over the other. "How do you not know your employer's full name? It had to have come up once, one way or the other."
"So, you finally admit to not knowing my name?" I propped my elbow on the steering wheel, turning halfway in my seat to give her my full attention. "You could've just asked me, you know. Save yourself all of that stress."
"Well?" She implored through gritted teeth.
"Well, what?" I feigned ignorance, knowing fully well what she wanted. It was fun to tease her, and watch her get all flustered. Her pupils dilated, and her full lips twisted in a cute, little pout that I wasn't sure she realized she did.
"Your name. What's it."
I shook my head. "I don't feel like telling anymore. My time of goodwill has passed. You have to earn it now."
"Yeah, right." She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the car seat. "Less talking, and more driving. We have somewhere to be."
I chuckled as I turned on the ignition, letting the engine run. "If you ever want to know what form of incentive I accept as payment, you know where to find me."