“Stockholm syndrome,” I say to myself as I examine one of the dresses. “That’s all it is. Perfectly natural. Just like coming on a strange, evil man’s c**k. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Irene.”
Uh huh. Sure.
The dress is well-made, soft and flowy, and would probably look incredible on someone not me. But I try it on anyway. In fact, I try on everything while I’m alone for the rest of the afternoon, and by the time I’m finished, I’m pretty sure I can’t wear any of it. I’m not good at making decisions anyway, but when it comes to something like this, I’m hopeless.
“The red one,” Gunsyn says, startling me again as he comes in behind me. “It will go well with your hair.”
“My hair that you don’t like?”
“When did I say I don’t like it?” He smiles. He approaches me, and I hate myself for b
