Page 47 of Desperate Measures
I drop my robe and pull on the dress. It’s a style actually suitable for day wear, a sheath dress in a cream that looks good with my darker coloring. “What kind of deal?”
“Dunno. Hades doesn’t exactly proclaim the terms from the top of the tallest tower.” She eyes me. “That’s a keeper. Try this one.”
Another dress, this one a deep red that’s fitted through the torso and flares out around my hips, the hem stopping just past my knees. “I like it.”
“Of course you do. I picked it for you.” She waits for me to strip out of it and sets it aside in the pile. “But anyway, that was before my time. As long as I’ve been around, it’s Meg and Hades, Hades and Meg.”?3
I give myself a few moments to indulge in the fantasy of being the right hand to a man like that. To Jafar. Meg and Hades are as close to equals as I’ve ever seen. Maybe they even are equals, their relationship originating in a deal or no.
Jafar and I will never get there. He’s too intent on keeping me closed in, keeping me safe, simply keeping me. “There’s something romantic about that.”
“If you say so.” She shrugs and passes over another garment. “I’m not going to tell you not to take her offer, but be careful, princess. Meg can be cool, but she’s as much about the bottom line as Hades. A deal is a mess, but at least they’ll honor their part of it. Once Hades gives his word, it’s as good as done. This offer stinks.”
I’m inclined to agree, but having an escape hatch is attractive in a way I can’t put into words. This is the first time in my life I’ve had actual options, albeit ones that aren’t overly attractive. I can stay with Jafar, continue to be his… I’m not even sure what I am to him.
Prize. Statement. Submissive.
He’s not a complete monster. He treats me well enough, but that could very well be linked to wanting to keep me docile so I’ll keep fucking him.
I press my fingertips to my temples. “This whole thing hurts my head.”
“I don’t envy you. My deal is shit, but at least it’s straightforward.”?4
I open my mouth to ask what her deal is but reconsider at the last moment. If she wants me to know, she’ll tell me. “What would you do?”
“Can’t tell you that.” Tink pulls out a dress, looks at it, and puts it back on the rack. “You have to make the choice you can live with, whatever that looks like.”
She’s right. It’s a choice I have to make for myself, for better or worse.
I manage a smile. “I appreciate you being frank with me.”
“You don’t have a lot of allies. I’m a dick, but even I can’t kick someone when they’re down.” She turns with two pairs of pants in her hands. “Now, on to more important things. Jeans or slacks? What are you feeling?”
“Jeans.” I’ve only owned a single pair, and I had to sneak them in because my father had strong opinions about what was considered appropriate clothing. Denim didn’t make the cut.
“Girl after my own heart.” She pulls out several more pairs and drops them next to me. “Work through this pile and tell me what you like, and we’ll go from there.”
We pass the next hour like that, and I can tell Tink intentionally keeps the conversation away from trickier topics. As much as I want to drill her for information, I allow it. She’s been kind to me, but at the end of the day, she owes her allegiance to Hades, and I’m not fool enough to think two styling appointments can sway that.
After she leaves, I dress carefully. I don’t know what Jafar has planned for tonight, and even as part of me tangles with the concept of taking Meg’s offer, the rest of me is abuzz with anticipation.
How can this be?
The only thing I’ve ever wanted is to be free. To make my own choices, to live without a sword hanging over my neck. To move through the world as a normal person. Meg’s offer would give me that.
No doubt I’d have to make some allowances for lifestyle. She may give me enough money to get me started, but I’d have to learn fast on my feet, starting from the ground up. The idea of it is staggering. Just a few nights ago, I told Jafar I couldn’t do it on my own. What if I was wrong? What if I can?
He won’t let me go.
Even if he releases my trust fund—and I have my doubts about that—he won’t let me leave the city. I can pretend having money of my own will put us closer to equal footing, but it’s a lie. Jafar is too overwhelming. He touches me, and I forget all the reasons I don’t want any of the life he’s shoved me into. I start to think that maybe this beautiful cage isn’t so bad, as long as he’s in here with me.
Except he’s not in here with me. He has all the power. I have none.
Jafar walks out of the elevators as I pour a glass of wine. He looks as decadent as ever, though the image is smudged. His charcoal suit is tailored to perfection, but his brown skin glistens as if he’s recently run. The thought of Jafar running home to me is too intoxicating to dwell on, so I turn my attention to his hair. He’s due for a cut; the waves have morphed into curls, a change that almost makes him seem more approachable.
More touchable.
He checks his stride and pivots to head in my direction, his purposeful steps eating up the length of the living room. He rounds the kitchen island and stops short. I try not to warm at the way he drinks in the sight of me, but it’s a heady feeling to have Jafar’s full attention. To have him appreciating.
