Chapter 17: What I Want, I Get
Isadora's triumphant moment curdled into cold shock as her eyes locked with Chloe's. Beside her, Jane looked on in confusion, while the salesgirl seemed to shrink, her shoulders slumping in anticipation of the inevitable scene.
"Oh, it's you?" Chloe's voice was a mocking drawl. She turned back to the terrified salesgirl. "Hey, is there a 90% off sale going on that I don't know about? And I mean, even at 99% off, I don't think some people should be here. But what can I say? Strange times we live in. You have to do your job and make sure someone isn't here to steal something." She delivered the last line with feigned seriousness, her gaze cutting back to Isadora.
Jane had heard enough. She stepped forward, her voice sharp. "What the hell do you mean by that? That she can't come here shopping?"
"Shopping?" Chloe laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. But her laughter died as her eyes landed on the mountain of glossy shopping bags piled near the bench. Her smirk vanished, replaced by a calculating coldness. She pointed a trembling finger at the bags. "Shopping? You mean… that is hers?"
"Yes, of course, miss," Jane retorted, still not grasping the full dynamic. "Are they meant to be yours?"
Chloe stalked over to the bags like a hawk, rifling through them, her movements frantic. Each item she saw the handbags, the shoes was more expensive than the last. The reality of the situation hit her like a physical blow. Of course. She's married to a rich man now. She must have seduced him, and he's given her some money to play with. The thought enraged her. She straightened up, her face a mask of contempt.
Isadora had remained silent throughout, a calm statue observing a storm. She knew Chloe's patterns intimately. Chloe didn't just want the dress; she wanted to take it from someone else. But not this time, Isadora thought, a steely resolve settling in her gut. This time, the person is me.
"I see you've managed to get him to give you some money," Chloe sneered, recovering her composure. "Enough for you to even come here and buy all this. I'm sure your mother would be so proud of you. You're doing great, taking after her."
Isadora, long inured to these barbs, simply rolled her eyes. "Chloe, can you please get a new line to use? You've been using that for years, and now… you sound like a broken record." She turned her back on her stepsister and walked over to Jane, whose face now showed dawning understanding. "Come on, Jane, let's go. I won't be changing out of this dress. I like it, so let's just go pay for everything, and we can go eat before heading home."
"Okay," Jane said with a supportive smile. "And Isa, this dress looks great on you. Just perfect."
Being so blatantly ignored and insulted was the final straw. The anger that had been simmering in Chloe exploded. "Isadora, you bitch!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the boutique and drawing the stares of other shoppers. "Take that dress off. Now!"
Isadora turned slowly, her expression cool and unyielding. "Take it off? But I don't want to. I picked it up first, and I like the dress, so I'm paying for it. You should get yourself something else, Chloe, because you're not getting this one."
Chloe's face was a mottled red. She was about to shriek another insult when a new voice cut through the tension.
"Chloe? What is all this noise?" Cynthia Anderson emerged from a nearby aisle, her expression one of mild irritation that quickly morphed into shock as she took in the scene: her daughter in tears, and Isadora, standing defiantly in a stunning red dress.
"Mother!" Chloe wailed, launching herself into a performance of wounded outrage. "Isa took my dress! Tell her to give it back!"
Cynthia patted her daughter's back absently, her eyes fixed on Isadora. "There, there, don't cry. I'm here." She then offered Isadora a smile that didn't reach her cold eyes. "Isa, dear, how have you been? You should visit the house and see us; I'm sure your father misses you a lot." She let the hollow pleasantry hang for a moment before getting to the point. "Now, dear, about the dress… you know how your sister is. If she wants something, nobody is going to have peace until she gets it. Come on, you've always been the sensible one. Just let her have the dress, and you can pick another one. I'll pay for it."
"Mother, you can't do that!" Chloe interjected. "She's here shopping with the rich man's money! All those bags over there are hers! She's a bitch, just like her mother!"
"Chloe, that's enough," Cynthia said, though her tone held no real reprimand. Her gaze flickered to the pile of shopping bags, and her eyes widened almost imperceptibly before she schooled her features back into a mask of condescending reason. She looked back at Isadora, expecting capitulation.
Isadora looked from the manipulative mother to the petulant daughter and felt a hysterical laugh bubble in her throat. She suppressed it. Instead, she met Cynthia's gaze squarely. "That won't be happening," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Because I happen to like this dress as well. Come on now, Jane, let's go."
As they turned to leave, Cynthia's facade cracked. Her voice turned to ice. "Isa, I was giving you a chance, but you don't want to take it. We are VIP members in this store. We can take that dress from you by force if we want to. I say again, take it off. Now."
Isadora stopped, her back stiffening. Before she could retort, a man's voice, laced with lazy amusement, cut in.
"Take it off by force, Mrs.? This isn't your house, I hope you know that." A man in a stylish leather jacket sauntered over, a pretty girl clinging to his arm. "And if she wants the dress she picked first, she should be allowed to keep it," the girl beside him added.
"Who are you? Mind your own business, sir," Cynthia snapped.
"This is a family matter."
But Isadora and Jane were staring in surprise. The man in the leather jacket was none other than Jay, Sebastian's cousin.
"Oh?" Jay said, a wide, mocking grin spreading across his face. "A family matter, you said? Funny. I'm also getting involved because of family." He turned to Isadora and gave her a deliberate, theatrical wink. "Sister-in-law! I didn't think I'd be seeing you here today." He then glanced at Jane. "And as beautiful as always." He turned back to Cynthia and Chloe. "Now, they'll be going, so you all can run along."
Cynthia let out a disbelieving laugh. "She's your sister-in-law? How? She's not even married yet! She's just being sent as a bed warmer before the real thing gets there!"
The moment the words left her mouth, she clamped her lips shut, realizing she had let her venom show too openly. But the damage was done. Isadora had heard it, and the barb about being a "bed warmer" lodged deep, a fresh wound.
Jay's grin didn't falter, though his eyes grew colder. "Well, lady, I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care. All I know is she will be leaving here with everything that she wants. That's it."
Furious, Cynthia turned to the cowering salesgirl. "Get me your store manager. Now!"
The girl scurried off, and Jay merely chuckled, clearly enjoying the drama. The manager arrived moments later a sharp-looking woman in a white suit, her red hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Her name was Anita.
Her professional smile appeared the moment she saw Jay. "What the hell are you doing here? Came to spoil one of your girls again?" They exchanged a familiar hug.
"You know me well," Jay smirked.
Anita then turned her attention to the situation, listening as the salesgirl stammered out an explanation. Her gaze swept over Isadora, then to Cynthia and Chloe.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Anita said, her voice polite but firm, addressing Cynthia. "But the lady over there has the right to the dress. VIP or not."
"But we've been coming here for years!" Chloe whined.
"I do apologize, but this is how it has to be," Anita replied smoothly. "Unless the lady wants to give it to you…"
"No," Isadora said, her voice firm and clear, cutting Anita off. "I don't want to."
Anita nodded. "That will be all, then. Thank you for coming to Anita's Wear."
As Samuel the driver arrived to help with the bags, and Isadora and Jane gathered their things to leave, Cynthia could only watch in seething silence. She felt the weight of the other shoppers' stares. Taking Chloe's arm, she steered her toward the exit, her voice a low, furious hiss.
"That girl… I have to talk to your father. What was his arrangement with Mr. Walker? Why does that bitch think she can talk back to me now and take what is yours?" Chloe, soothed by her mother's rage, nodded vehemently.
"Yes, Mother. Let's go home. We have to tell Dad."