When I opened my eyes in the morning, extremely sleep-deprived, Victor was no longer in bed. I looked around for signs of him in the bathroom, but since there were no sounds coming from there, I assumed he was already in the kitchen or at work.
I glanced at my phone's display, which helpfully informed me that I had just over an hour until my classes, so reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled to the shower, and then to the wardrobe.
I didn't really think about what to wear. I just grabbed a plum dress and matching shoes and, dressed, moved on to the next step of my morning routine, which was drinking a glass of warm water with ginger.
Victor was sitting at the kitchen island with his nose in the laptop and didn't even notice I had entered until I tapped a huge ceramic mug on the counter.
– Nice dress – he said, looking at me over the computer screen when I sat next to him and began sipping my concoction slowly. – Though very short.
The little creature living inside me rolled its eyes, and I sighed inwardly. How long could we keep going over the same topic?
– Victor, we're in a relationship, but I am a free woman – I began matter-of-factly, because somehow this needed to be settled. – We can discuss this for months and neither of us will change our stance. Do you want me to make concessions about my clothing? You have to compromise too.
– In what, exactly? – Victor looked at me questioningly with a mix of intrigue and uncertainty.
– A car with a driver – I stated bluntly.
Victor immediately made a determined face.
– I won't give up your car – he said in a tone that brooked no argument. – I chose it especially for you.
– Then without a driver – I suggested undeterred. – I'll drive myself, and in return, I'll wear necklines with longer bottoms and turtlenecks with short skirts.
Victor didn't look pleased at all.
– Necklines and short skirts are supposed to be modest clothing? – he snorted.
– They won't appear together – I clarified. – It'll balance out.
Victor looked at me as if to make sure it wasn't a joke.
– I have to give up the driver, and you still get to wear that, just halfway? – he muttered, pointing with theatrical reluctance at my mid-thigh length dress with a turtleneck.
– You could also get rid of the car – I replied nonchalantly.
– And then you'll dress more modestly? – Victor perked up.
– But I'll return to the motorcycle – I quickly added, and his enthusiasm momentarily dimmed.
– Damn – he growled under his breath but gave me an amused look, and after a moment, a smile. – You negotiate better than my business partners.
– Because they don't wear short skirts – I chirped, sending him a flirtatious smile. – See how much the world would lose if you dressed me in a potato sack?
– I'd definitely gain more peace – he muttered, coming closer to me, then wrapped me in his arms and clasped his hands on my buttocks. – A car without a driver and no motorcycle,– he summarized laconically.
– Okay – I agreed, drawing out the vowels – but the Honda stays with us. I won't sell it.
– But you won't ride it. At least not too often – he added quickly before I could object to this stringent condition – and not at this time of year.
The little creature living inside me nodded approvingly, so I did the same.
– Okay – I replied – but you'll clear out my wardrobe, and I'll only have my clothes there or ones I personally approve before purchase.
– Those terms are acceptable – he said after a very brief moment of consideration. – So maybe, to seal our deal, you'll drive your new car to your classes? I'll show you how to drive it.
I looked at him as if he were not very bright and made a theatrically offended face.
– You think I can't manage? – I asked, smiling slyly.
– I've never ridden with you as the driver – he explained obligingly. – I want to make sure you'll be safe.
– You're being weird – I stated with absolute conviction. – But if you need it so much, then come on.
– Fantastic – Victor rejoiced. – You'll drive me to work.
– You're being even weirder – I muttered, sipping the rest of my ginger water.
– And then you'll pick me up – he added, pleased, as if he were a four-year-old waiting for Santa Claus to pull a present out of his sack. – You'll have your five minutes to shine as the driver you so didn't want to be.
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly's Year
Romance" - We are in a church, - I remarked sensibly. - Absolutely, - he agreed with a pleasant purr that vibrated between my legs. - Your parents are standing right there, - I whispered, discreetly pointing to his mom and dad standing in front of the alta...
