Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(64)

“You look awesome.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning my body as I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I was taken aback at how pants felt on my body. The jeans hugged my thighs and flared slightly at my ankles. I’d always felt that we were required to wear our bulky dresses to reinforce our femininity, but I was wrong. I felt more feminine in that pair of jeans than I had in my twenty-two years wearing nothing but dresses.

“What about your hair?”

I closed my eyes and inhaled, exhaling softly through my mouth. It was time.

“Will you change it for me?”

“Do you mean style it?”

“Yes, please.”

Tiffany crossed to me and removed the rubber band holding my hair in the thick braid. Her fingers sifted through the thick layers, allowing the strands to loosen. My scalp tingled as the hair was released.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

I gasped.

“Never mind,” Tiffany said with a laugh.

“Not yet,” I said, grasping a handful of hair and holding it close. “I’m not ready.”

“I get it,” Tiffany conceded, stroking my hair gently with her fingertips. “I chopped mine off immediately and I kinda wish I hadn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

She shrugged. “I guess it felt like an act of rebellion, not freedom. Now when I cut it, it’s freedom. I’m making a choice for myself, not against the prophet or my parents or whatever.”

“That makes sense.”

“Wait as long as you like. I shouldn’t have asked that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“Let’s see here,” she said, pulling my thick locks into her hands. “What if I curl it? I can give you some loose waves. It’ll be gorgeous.”

“I trust you.”

? ? ?

An hour later, I found myself in front of Porter’s door, feeling unsure of myself and of my appearance. I had no idea if he would approve of the changes I made.

When I’d taken one final glance in Tiffany’s full-length mirror, I was astounded at the look Tiffany had created. The tunic was loose enough that I didn’t feel too on display for the men who passed me on the sidewalk, yet the jeans hugged my thighs in a way that made me feel sexy—and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I needed to see Porter’s reaction to feel validated.

I needed to know if I belonged in his world. Because we both knew he’d outgrown mine.

The door opened and Porter stared at me in silence. Pressure filled my chest as I waited for a reaction, then I immediately began mentally chastising myself. He must have been less than impressed with the changes I’d made to my body, my hair, my clothing.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll . . . I’ll go back . . . I’ll change.” Humiliated, I clenched my fists, hating that I was showing so much vulnerability, first with my appearance and then my stutter.

“What?” Porter grabbed my elbow. “No, no, Brin. You shocked me, but I love this. You look so natural, so . . . different. It’s like I’m seeing you with new eyes.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “I was worried. I thought you hated how I looked.”

He pulled me close, running his fingers through my newly wavy hair from root to tip. “First of all, no way. That’s impossible.” He chuckled. “Secondly, have you looked in a mirror? You’re freaking hot.”

I glanced down shyly, my shoulders rising in modest happiness. “Thank you.”

“Did you do this for me?”

“No. Well, yes.” I hesitated. “I did it for both of us.”

He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I’m so glad you did.” He wrapped his hands around my waist.

I peered into the long hallway, feeling bashful. “Should I come in?”

“Well, actually, I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

Porter grinned in a way that I’d never seen before. He seemed giddy. Was it my outfit? The fact that he could finally run his fingers through my hair as he’d been dying to do for weeks? Or was it the surprise he mentioned? Regardless, he had my full attention. Knowing that I could cause such happiness in Porter made me fall even more for him.

“Ready?” he asked, dragging the old suitcase behind him.

“You’re using it,” I said, gesturing to his dusty case. The smile ran away from Porter’s face and I immediately wanted to pretend I’d never drawn attention to his choice in luggage.

“For this? Absolutely.”

“This?” I asked, puzzled once again.

“You’ll see. Come on, Brin.”

? ? ?

We drove for over an hour with the radio blasting and the windows rolled down. For just a moment, I was tempted to unbuckle my safety belt and hang my feet out the window, but I didn’t have it in me. Not yet, at least.

Porter turned the car onto a gravel road that almost resembled the compound. Hesitation and comfort, in equal measure, rose in my throat. I had no idea where we were going, but I was eager to find out.

Finally Porter turned at a tiny yellow mailbox, and pulled the car into a dirt driveway in front of a small cottage.

“Where are we?” I asked, peering at the tiny house. It was in the final stages of construction, framed and roofed and sheathed, the windows and doors installed, but it wasn’t yet complete.