He cracked a smile and looked slightly less tense. I could see my opinion about his home was more important than it should be. Who was I to have an opinion on such matters?
“I have several swimsuits in your size. You can dive in whenever you like,” he told me.
I halted and turned to face him. “You have women’s bathing suits? Why is that? Do you have a lot of female visitors arriving here daily?”
Okay, so I was suddenly bitten by the jealousy bug, but the idea of Timothy romancing me while he was entertaining a whole kingdom of model types really irked.
His hand shot up. “Whoa, Penelope, you know better than that. I have swimsuits in your size because I hoped you’d visit. Only in your size, my dear. In fact, when we head upstairs, you will see an entire room with clothing for you, all chosen by the wondrous Simone. She said it was great fun, by the way, because you are always so appreciative and easy to please.”
“So, Simone has been here?”
“Simone helps me out with many things, but not the one I see in your worried brain. Believe me, Simone has no interest in me, nor I in her.”
“Because she’s a lesbian?”
He coughed in surprise, then shook his head and looked off into the distance. Not meeting my eyes, he responded, “You’d have to ask Simone about that. Her love life is none of my business,” he said with a bit of a frown.
“Nor mine. Sorry. It’s only that she’s so beautiful, and . . .”
Timothy shook his head a second time. “Did you not read the entire newspaper article? Like the part where the photography labeled you: “Venus clothed in a mermaid dress.”
I scoffed. “Hyperbole. That was meant to sell newspapers, not to be a stated fact.”
“No. You’re wrong, my Cherie. It is exactly how I felt when I first saw you in that dress. Actually, you represent a whole score of goddesses. The many faces and postures of my Penelope.”
I was tired of the conversation. I wished Timothy would stop praising me. I was just short of plain. Why did he always sing my praises? Was Simone that magical with her transformations?
“Okay, I’ll stop,” he said, scuffing his foot like a little boy. “Your face is already blooming in reds. Shall I escort you upstairs to see the rest of the house?”
I nodded, not daring to say anything more. How did Timothy always know my mood changes? Was my face that transparent?