within a newspaper or magazine, she hadn’t absorbed the news, too wrapped up in her own healing process. She’d given up on trying to impress anyone when she’d left him that day. She’d only wanted to dig in the dirt and heal her wounded pride.
Sophie showered, dried and pulled on a clean pair of jeans. She searched through her wardrobe, desperate for a shirt that wasn’t so big another person could fit into it. She found one finally in the back of her drawer. It was a simple, long sleeved white cotton shirt that she’d worn underneath a jumper a long time ago.
The white shirt looked great against her skin, she realized. She turned her face from side to side in the mirror, looking for the yellow undertones Evelyn had mentioned, but with the white color, her skin just looked creamy and softer.
With shaking fingers, she dabbed on some lipstick and was encouraged by the way it made her look. The reddish pink brightened her face much more, now that it wasn’t worn down by a dark brown or black color of clothing.
Her breasts were still too small and without the shirt to hang down to her knees, she realized that her jeans were too loose, almost hanging on her hips. But she realized that her appearance was a vast improvement. What would Jason think? Would he dislike the way she looked?
Sophie knew she’d never know until she walked downstairs to find out. She looked at the closed door and debated her appearance. But deep down inside, she knew she looked better. She liked the new look. Should she really care if Jason did or not? She knew she shouldn’t but she did. How did women become so confident that they didn’t care what their spouses thought of their appearance?
She walked down to the screening room tentatively and was relieved when Jason just waived her over to one of the low, comfortable looking sofas. There were chairs and sofas as well as tables between each. The walls were a soft gold with dim lights recessed into the ceiling.
“This is a screening room?” she asked, wondering where the television was.
“Of course,” he replied, standing up and taking her hand to pull her down next to him.
“Okay. Where is the television?” she asked curiously.
He didn’t answer but picked up a remote control and pressed several buttons. “Did you have a preference on movie?” he asked as the lights dimmed and a portion of the ceiling opened up. A screen scrolled down on silent mechanisms and Sophie stared in fascination at the toys he had at his disposal.
“I don’t think I have a preference. I haven’t seen a movie in years,” she said, remembering the only time she was able to go to a movie was when she was in boarding school and her father didn’t know anything about it. So it had been about eight years since she’d been to a movie.
“How about an old Cary Grant movie?”
“Sounds perfect,” she replied.
The movie suddenly appeared on the screen with only a few more buttons pressed. She sat back next to him, more aware of his presence than of the movie. But by the time the credits scrolled through at the end, she was completely engrossed. She didn’t know how it had happened but she found herself curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulders and her head resting on his.
“Ready for dinner?” he asked quietly.
Sophie was again aware of his body next to hers, of his heat seeping through her clothes. Now that the movie was no longer on, she was on fire for him and felt his thumb rub against her shoulder.
“I suppose so,” she replied, her mouth suddenly dry.
Instead of getting up, he pulled her closer and kissed her mouth, his tongue requesting entry. Sophie was beyond denying him. She wanted him badly. She knew that in just the three days she’d been back with him, she had become addicted to his touch, to the release he was able to give her and the euphoria she felt afterwards. Last night, she’d missed his
Sophie showered, dried and pulled on a clean pair of jeans. She searched through her wardrobe, desperate for a shirt that wasn’t so big another person could fit into it. She found one finally in the back of her drawer. It was a simple, long sleeved white cotton shirt that she’d worn underneath a jumper a long time ago.
The white shirt looked great against her skin, she realized. She turned her face from side to side in the mirror, looking for the yellow undertones Evelyn had mentioned, but with the white color, her skin just looked creamy and softer.
With shaking fingers, she dabbed on some lipstick and was encouraged by the way it made her look. The reddish pink brightened her face much more, now that it wasn’t worn down by a dark brown or black color of clothing.
Her breasts were still too small and without the shirt to hang down to her knees, she realized that her jeans were too loose, almost hanging on her hips. But she realized that her appearance was a vast improvement. What would Jason think? Would he dislike the way she looked?
Sophie knew she’d never know until she walked downstairs to find out. She looked at the closed door and debated her appearance. But deep down inside, she knew she looked better. She liked the new look. Should she really care if Jason did or not? She knew she shouldn’t but she did. How did women become so confident that they didn’t care what their spouses thought of their appearance?
She walked down to the screening room tentatively and was relieved when Jason just waived her over to one of the low, comfortable looking sofas. There were chairs and sofas as well as tables between each. The walls were a soft gold with dim lights recessed into the ceiling.
“This is a screening room?” she asked, wondering where the television was.
“Of course,” he replied, standing up and taking her hand to pull her down next to him.
“Okay. Where is the television?” she asked curiously.
He didn’t answer but picked up a remote control and pressed several buttons. “Did you have a preference on movie?” he asked as the lights dimmed and a portion of the ceiling opened up. A screen scrolled down on silent mechanisms and Sophie stared in fascination at the toys he had at his disposal.
“I don’t think I have a preference. I haven’t seen a movie in years,” she said, remembering the only time she was able to go to a movie was when she was in boarding school and her father didn’t know anything about it. So it had been about eight years since she’d been to a movie.
“How about an old Cary Grant movie?”
“Sounds perfect,” she replied.
The movie suddenly appeared on the screen with only a few more buttons pressed. She sat back next to him, more aware of his presence than of the movie. But by the time the credits scrolled through at the end, she was completely engrossed. She didn’t know how it had happened but she found herself curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulders and her head resting on his.
“Ready for dinner?” he asked quietly.
Sophie was again aware of his body next to hers, of his heat seeping through her clothes. Now that the movie was no longer on, she was on fire for him and felt his thumb rub against her shoulder.
“I suppose so,” she replied, her mouth suddenly dry.
Instead of getting up, he pulled her closer and kissed her mouth, his tongue requesting entry. Sophie was beyond denying him. She wanted him badly. She knew that in just the three days she’d been back with him, she had become addicted to his touch, to the release he was able to give her and the euphoria she felt afterwards. Last night, she’d missed his
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