Liberty Begins (The Liberty Series) by Leigh James Page A

was completely unruffled, unfazed by the blood on his hands. Clearly, this was just another day at the office for him. “Can we please have some wine with dinner?”
    He smiled. “Of course. Might help take the edge off,” he said, and shrugged.
    “That would be great. Thanks,” I said, and happily locked the door again. Now I was almost all grown up, I thought. I not only knew what it felt like to really kiss someone, when you really wanted to, but I knew what it felt like to need a drink. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
    John had left a pile of clothes for me on the vanity. There was a pair of new black Converse high-tops on the floor, size eight. How did he know? I wondered, checking the labels on the rest of the clothes. The tee shirt, which was gray and fabulously soft, was a medium. The jeans, which were a dark wash and looked expensive, were a size 28. This baffled me, but they looked like they would fit. The bra, which I noticed was black and lacy, was a 34C, and it had matching, very sexy, underwear in a size four.
    Honestly, I didn’t want to know.
    I used the organic body wipes again, but what I really needed was a shower. I eyed it, but I couldn’t bring myself to jump in. Too many people on the bus. I would feel weirdly exposed, because they would know that I was naked in here. I couldn’t have that. So I just brushed my teeth, put on my beautiful new clothes that all fit perfectly, and shook my hair out. I looked at my makeup-free face in the mirror. I hoped I would be good enough for John without my mask.
    My stomach rumbled again and I hastily stuffed my dirty clothes into a plastic bag I found in the console cabinet. I opened the door and he was still standing there, waiting, smiling at me.
    “Hello, beautiful,” he said. My heart clenched. “Come this way.” He gestured towards the back of the bus.
    It was a minuscule but immaculate galley kitchen, with granite and ceramic tile that matched the bathroom. There was a couch along the opposite wall from the sink and the refrigerator, and on a low table in front of it were several pizzas, a salad, a bottle of wine and two place settings. All the plates and bowls were white, simple and elegant. This was a much nicer setup than I was used to. I took in a deep breath. I was glad I was wearing fancy underwear and expensive jeans. At the thought of the underwear a delicious warmth spreading through me: Fancy underwear that John had chosen for me .
    “Please, sit,” John said, and we sat down together. “White wine?” he asked. I nodded my head, yes. He poured it into a stemless glass and I was relieved that it was white. I didn’t know what to do with red wine — maybe because the only kind I’d ever tried had been my mother’s, and it had come in a six-pack and tasted vile.
    “I don’t care for stemless glasses,” John said, inspecting his, “but they’re better for the road.” He smiled at me.
    I tried to smile back but all I could see was pizza out of the corner of my eye. It smelled heavenly. My mouth filled with water. If only I could turn into a robot, I thought. Then maybe I wouldn’t have all of these awkward moments and could save myself some embarrassment.
    “I’m starving,” I blurted out.
    John laughed. “Of course you are, sweetheart! Please, eat.” He leaned over and put several pieces of steaming pizza on my plate and handed me a cloth napkin. He took a sip of his wine and started piling food on his plate.
    “We bring this with us on the road, uncooked, then cook it when we’re ready,” he said, in between bites.
    “It’s delicious,” I said, with my mouth half full.
    John threw back his head and laughed. “I love that you eat,” he said. He raised his glass. “To pizza,” he said, and I raised my glass and clinked his.
    “To pizza,” I said, chasing my pizza with a sip of wine. It was, of course, delicious.
    I looked up at John and smiled. “Thank you for the clothes and for the food,” I said.