He didn’t come to my side of the car to help me. He stood by the open door, his gray hair blowing in the wind, and he glared at the roof of the sedan.
“Look at you, Elena,” he said, his voice rising above the sound of an SUV passing on Main Street.
“Please, Damon, keep your voice down,” I whispered as I stepped onto the concrete curb.
The wind whipped the hem of my dress, hugging the emerald silk tightly around my knees. I pulled my coat tighter around me, but the front remained open, exposing the fabric.
“You look like you’re trying to prove something to the world,” he said, his eyes flicking distastefully to the light fabric. “Like you want all the guys to stare at you.”
“That’s not true,” I said, feeling a tightness in my chest. “I just wanted to wear something that would make me feel like myself again. Not just a woman who cleans the kitchen and folds laundry.”
