“Your sister.”
“What?”
“I asked your sister to put everything you like in the cart, and then just asked Martin to get it delivered here.”
“She helped you?”
I don’t know why the idea of my sister helping him sounds more unrealistic than him actually doing that. He confirms with a nod.
“Makes sense now,” I mumble to myself. “Thank you anyway.”
I leave his room and slowly walk to mine when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Maeve.”
I pause and turn around. He’s leaning his back on the doorframe of his bedroom. “Yeah?”
“I picked the clothes myself.” He clears his throat before continuing. “Well, not myself, but I told Martin what you like and what you don’t.”
“You did?” I whisper. He nods.
“Beatrice doesn’t know you. Well,” he clears his throat, “the new you.” He flicks his hand in the air as if it can explain what he means by that. But the odd thing? It does explain a lot. But it also terrifies me even more.
I can’t come up with a smart reply, so I go with the one that seems the most sincere. “Thank you.”Why does my voice sound so small?
“Do you like it?” He sounds so unsure my heart starts aching.
“Yes,” I whisper, swallowing tears down. “I love it. All of it.”
He scratches the back of his head and looks to the side. “Good.”
“Thank you,” I say again, not knowing how to express my gratitude for not only buying clothes and stuff but buying somethingIlike. Another short, unsure nod from him.
Before I leave him, I have another burning question.
“Does Martin buy all your clothes?”
“No, never,” he replies firmly.
“But—” I feel my brows drawing together. “Why did he buy my clothes then?”
He watches me silently. His stare is heavy. His mood is cloudy. It’s suddenly different. I think he’ll leave me without an answer when he starts speaking. His voice is quiet.
“Because I’d never trust something so personal and so important to a personal shopper. I trust Martin.”
“So important?” I ask in a whisper.
He lifts his chin. “Something that will touch your skin and hug your body. I don’t trust anyone else with that.”
“Oh,” I say, blinking like a silly, brainless doll.
“Good night, Maeve.” He pushes from the frame and walks back to his room, closing the door behind him.
And leaving me with the worst case of unresolved feelings.
41
Ezra
