“Please, Damon, keep your voice down,” I whispered, stepping onto the concrete curb.
The wind caught the hem of my dress, wrapping the emerald silk tight against my knees. I pulled my coat closer, but the front remained open, exposing the fabric.
“You look like you are trying to prove something to the world,” he said, his eyes scanning the bright fabric with disgust. “Like you want every man in there to stare at you.”
“That is not true,” I said, my chest tightening. “I just wanted to wear something that made me feel like myself again. Not just the woman who cleans the kitchen and folds the laundry.”
He took a step toward me, his face close enough that I could smell the peppermint on his breath.
“You are fifty, Elena. People our age don’t need to be seen. They need to be dignified.”
“And you think this is undignified?”
“I think it is a desperate attempt to hold onto something you lost twenty years ago,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
