“The Nightingale.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m going to The Nightingale, where Connor works, with Rhys, likely wearing something that Connor bought me because I don’t own anything else nice enough to go out in. But I’m supposed to be staying away from Connor. What a complicated shitshow of a situation.
Does Rhys know that Connor works there, I wonder? Surely not. He wouldn’t have booked to go there knowing we could bump into him. It was Rhys’s idea to cut ties with him, after all. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will be Connor’s night off. Even if he is working, chances are he’ll be too busy to realise we’re there. Hopefully.
Knowing showers are when my troubling thoughts are at their loudest, I find a playlist on my phone while I walk to the bathroom, turning it up full volume so I can hear it over both the spraying water and my incessant internal monologue. My shower takes longer than usual as I’ve fallen behind with feminine maintenance and have to shave what feels like my entire body before I’m done. I even go as far as to exfoliate every inch of skin I can reach with a posh jar of body scrub a pupil bought me for Christmas.
Feeling fresh and polished, I dry myself off and hurry across the landing in my towel, not wanting Rhys to catch me half naked in broad daylight. I keep my music playing, though not as loud as before, to keep a lid on any stray intrusive thoughts. I throw on my dressing gown and fasten it tightly, then remove my towel and use it to rub my hair. Once it’s no longer dripping onto the carpet, I face my wardrobe and tentatively open the doors.
I have tidy jeans which I could wear with a top, but The Nightingale is too nice for jeans. This leaves me with a choice between a black knitted dress, a white sundress and the green dress I wore the last time I went to this restaurant. I decide it’s far too hot for the knitted dress – I’m not in the mood to pass out in public today, thank you. The sundress is far more suitable, but my already pale complexion would look pallid and sickly next to its snowy fabric. Green dress it is, regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me.
I blow-dry my hair with my usual lack of finesse and straighten it as best I can. For my make-up, I try to follow a tutorial from the internet but end up with wonky eyeliner and have to start again, this time opting for my usual simple routine with the addition of a red lip, which is much bolder than I would usually dare to wear. But I promised Rhys that I’d make an effort, so here we are.
Just as I step into my dress, Rhys enters the room following his own shower. I quickly pull it up to hide my body from his view, then remember that I can’t reach the zip myself. Reluctantly, I ask for his help. Keen to oblige, he runs his fingers along my exposed back, making me shiver, and slowly pulls up the zip.
“I love this dress,” he breathes against my ear from behind, brushing my hair over to my other shoulder. “There’s just one thing wrong.”
He must have noticed my tummy sticking out or my wobbly thighs peeking through the side slit. I’m going to have to change into jeans after all.
“This underwear.” Rhys slides his hands up my thighs under my dress and hooks his thumbs under the elastic of my knickers. “They ruin the look of the dress from behind. They’re going to have to go.”
“But I don’t have anything different to change them with,” I protest, but Rhys is already sliding them down my legs.
“Looks like you’ll have to go without, then. Step out.”
“Rhys, I can’t…”Why isn’t he listening to me?
“Step out, Tilly.”
Rhys’s tone leaves no room for argument as he holds my underwear on the floor, so I do as he says, despite the panic clawing its way up my throat. I’ve never done anything like this before. I like to be wearing as many layers as possible, to hide my body, and this dress was pushing the boundaries enough already. Rhys throws my black knickers onto the bed with a satisfied smirk and opens his own wardrobe to look for a shirt.
“You’re wearing heels tonight, right? They’ll make your legs look thinner,” he says, casually selecting a deep blue shirt to match his eyes.
Ouch.
With that, I find the highest heels I own and throw them onto my feet.
I’m so uncomfortable. I was hoping we would be seated in a quiet booth where I wouldn’t have to worry about exposing myself to the other diners with every movement. No such luck. We’re sitting at a table in the middle of the restaurant, notablecloth to preserve my modesty, and Rhys has shuffled his chair over to my side, so he’s not even blocking me from the front. I try to angle my crossed legs to the side, and make a conscious effort not to uncross them again.
I try to distract myself with the menu, which has changed since I was here last. I’m just trying to figure out which the healthiest option would be when I feel Rhys’s hand on my knee. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps analysing his menu. His hand is warm on my chilled skin, and it occurs to me that thisshouldfeel comforting. So why does it feel more like a threat?
“You having the Caesar salad?” he asks, giving my knee a little squeeze.
“Yeah, I think so.” I try to hide my disappointment. Everything on the menu looks incredible and, knowing Connor’s skill in the kitchen, I’m sure it would taste divine. But delicious food is usually cooked in butter and covered with a rich sauce, which means they’re not an option for me. “I’ll ask for the dressing on the side.”
Rhys leans towards me and whispers, “Good girl.” He kisses my cheek and runs his hand a little higher up my leg, half of it now hidden by my dress. The combination of earning Rhys’s rare praise and his hand on my bare thigh makes me tingle between my legs.
The waiter, the same one who served me last time, takes our order, and Rhys’s hand remains on me the entire time.
“So, have you thought anymore about my offer?” Rhys asks as he takes a sip of his beer with his free hand.
“What offer?”
“To make you a plan for the gym? You’re doing so well with your diet, but that’s only half of it. You need to burn off all that fat, and now that school’s finished, you have the time.”
I was hoping he’d forgotten about this part of the plan. Thethought of going to a gym, particularly one where he’s slept with several of the members, gives me palpitations. I’ve also been feeling lightheaded a lot since reducing my food allowance, so exercising sounds even more hellish than usual. But I’m determined to make a change this time, however gruelling it may be.
