Jack shrugged, not sure whether Mary just wanted to save him the trouble of showing her around, or if she had no interest in spending time with him. Sure, they’d gotten off to a prickly start, but he’d thought they could take walks together, or go out for dessert sometime, or any of the other things he’d seen couples doing. Even if they never fell in love, he’d hoped to at least become friends.
But at least Mary didn’t seem to hate the apartment, and that had to be worth something, right? “I tried,” he admitted. “But I guess it wasn’t good enough.” He nodded toward the note. “She’ll prob’ly come find you before too long, she’s gotta know everythin’. But she’s a nice lady.” After a moment, he added, “…She thinks Pop’s got a steel shop somewhere an’ I met ya at work, so, uh…if ya wouldn’t mind not correctin’ her…it’s just gonna save us both a lot o’ questions.”
Taking her jacket, he nodded, going to hang it in the empty front closet–the boys usually just threw theirs over chairs–and then returned to her side. “C’mon,” he said, “they moved your stuff up here.”
He led her up the stairs and around the corner, down a narrow balcony hall, to a large bedroom that overlooked the street. Another bouquet, this one of lilies, sat on the bedside table, along with a bottle of champagne Jack knew was from Race too, and he rolled his eyes. Mary’s luggage had been placed next to the dresser (no doubt neatened by Mrs. Murphy), and Jack moved her suitcase to the bed for easier access. “Anythin’ else you need right now?” he asked. “The bathroom’s down the hall.”
Mary let out a little laugh, the sound strangely genuine as it passed painted lips. “That’s ever Italian woman on the face of the earth. Everyone knew I was getting married before I did. Gossip is our biggest vice.” She admitted before glancing away in an attempt to regain her composure. “But yeah. Sure. I’ll tell her that I met you at work. Just keep her from asking too many questions. I don’t know how long it’ll take a nosy woman to get suspicious.”
The redhead trailed behind him, struggling with the armfuls of tulle and satin, almost wanting to ask Jack for help before thinking better of it. She could handle herself. She was always able to handle herself.
But she wasn’t about to argue when he moved her suitcase to the bed. If she’d been left to her own devices, she’d have ended up bent over the suitcase in her underwear. Mary clicked open the suitcase as it sprung open, a few pairs of stockings and slips popping out and onto the bed. The redhead sighed and began digging through the contents of the bags to find a dress, a slip, and some more casual undergarments than her mother had stuffed her into this morning.
“Before you head out. Help me get this dress off. I’m sewn into it.” She requested, doing her best to temper her tone instead of snapping at him. “Just so you know, my mother went overboard with the wedding lingerie. She must have pictured some sort of passionate ravaging of one another and decided to make me look like some sort of whore to fit the part.”
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