The Kiss That Killed Me by Kristy Nicolle

Author:Kristy Nicolle [Nicolle, Kristy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

Up in our room I hear a knock at the door. I am perched in only a robe and lingerie, which I found in the wardrobe, in the middle of white sheets looking down at my legs. The robe is aqua silk and has kimono sleeves, contrasting starkly to the white and cream of the room, the label reads ‘VW’, and we all know what that means. I get up from the mahogany four-poster bed, letting my heels sink into the plush, fibrous carpet. Taking steps toward the door, I hear Orion bustling in the bathroom. I know he is listening in, but I lack caring as I turn the golden polished door handle and swing it open haphazardly. The absence of dark wood reveals a meek looking girl, her face a spattering of freckles. Her hair is dark and wispy, tied back into a French plait that falls down her left shoulder. Her eyes are a baby blue, innocent and doe like. Holy crap she’s beautiful! My own eyes narrow. Suspicion and fear rising in my gut.

“You must be Georgia.” I say, I know my introduction is curt, but I’m tired.

“Y … Y … Yes. You must be Callie. It’s lovely to meet you. Orion has told me ssss … so much about you.” she stutters; her voice no more than a mouse squeak.

“I am.” I hold out a hand and shake hers briskly, the aqua silk of my robe brushing against my sensitive flesh.

“I have this for you.” She looks up at me; for once, I’m not the shortest person here. She must be only four foot nine, petite and slender. In her arms, I see what she is holding out to me; a garment bag, white in colour with the same VW initials in a swirly font.

“Vivienne Westwood …” I breathe the words like a prayer under my lips. I’d always had money; my father had left quite a reasonable amount to me before he died in a trust fund in my name. I was around fourteen when my mom let me in on this little secret. However, I’d always planned on using it for college, before the whole having a tail thing had kicked in. My Mom and particularly Carl had been pretty strict on keeping it locked up tight until I left for higher education. I’d made my gas money by babysitting and had never even set foot in a designer store with the kind of price tags Miss Westwood was used to dishing out.

“Yes. I was on strict instructions with this dress. He picked it from the catalogue himself.” She says this, looking down at the floor and I wonder what this girl has seen. She probably knows Orion better than I do.

“I’m sure he has excellent taste.” I say with conviction.

“He does. Though … I’ve never seen him take so long over a single garment before.” I warm to her unwillingly as she is clearly trying to point out how much he cares. I bite down my jealousy.

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