Page 71 of Provocative
I actually hope you want me to rip it off you again.
All of it.
Looking forward to it and you,
Nick
I set the card aside and pull back the paper to first find gorgeous royal blue lace panties that I donotwant him to rip. They’re too beautiful. Beneath them is a dress. I pull it from the box, and while it’s not an exact replica of the one that was destroyed, it’s close. I inhale and let it out. I wait for that feeling of being bought, but even with this and Nick flying me to San Francisco, I don’t feel that. Maybe because he’s done these things just because. Not to make up for something. And the dress. He turned it into something we shared and will share again. He made it special.
I gather everything up and walk into the bedroom. And right before I pack the panties, I take a picture of them and, laughing, text it to Nick with the words:New challenge. And I love the dress. Thank you, Nick.
He calls me. “You’re not mad.”
“No. Because you made it…about us.”
“There’s a lot of us going on this weekend, sweetheart. The plane is waiting on you. Hurry the hell up. The pilot is going to call me when you take off.”
“I’m leaving here in fifteen minutes.”
“See you soon, Faith Winter.”
There is a deep, raspy quality to his voice that I feel from head to toe. “See you soon, Nick Rogers.”
He ends the call.
With a grin on my face, I finish packing. I’m about to leave when I open the nightstand by my bed and find the card from my father. I still haven’t read it. I stare at the script, and I shake myself before stuffing it in my purse. I need to read it, and I might just need that spanking I mentioned. I don’t know that I want to be under Nick’s hand to forget something this weekend, though. I think I’d rather be there just because. Still, I decide to leave the card in my purse.
My cellphone rings, and I remove it from the spot under that card, and the minute I see Josh’s number, my heart starts to race. With a shaky hand, I punch the answer button. “Josh?”
“You’re in, baby! You made the show.”
“What? No. Yes. No?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. You’re in. I’m walking into a meeting, but I’ll send you details. They love you. They say you are the next ‘it’ artist. So, drink some wine and start fucking selling it. I have to go. Congrats, baby.”
He hangs up, and I dial Nick. “You can’t be at the airport yet.”
“I got in the show. I got in.”
“The L.A. show?”
“The L.A. show. I got in.”
“Then why the hell are you not here already so we can celebrate? Get your sweet, spankable ass to the airport.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Faith.”
“Yes?”
“Congrats, sweetheart.”
“Thank you.”
We disconnect, and in a rush of adrenaline I hurry to the door, exit to the porch, and lock up the house, then move on to load up my car. No. My mother’s car. I hate driving this thing. I climb inside, and I swear I smell flowers. I can never escape the flowers, but I’m not trying anymore, I remind myself. I’m painting them. I’m facing them and every demon associated with my mother. I start the car and glance at the house. I love it. I always have. If I can live here and paint, and just be near the winery, maybe, just maybe, that’s the path to compromise between my father’s wishes and my own.
I’m about to place the car in gear when the rapidly setting sun catches on something in the yard. Frowning, I decide I must have dropped something. I place the car in park and get out. Walking to the spot I’d saw something, I bend down and pick up what appears to be a money clip engraved with an American flag. It must be Nick’s, but I’m not sure I see that man with an empty money clip. Maybe it’s the delivery driver’s clip. I take it with me, slide back into the car, and stuff it in my purse. If it’s not Nick’s, I’ll call the delivery company next week.
