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“You wouldn’t be laughing if you could see me!”
Cyrille laughs again. “I’m not laughing! Just come out and let me see. You can’t hide in there forever. The cookies are out here, remember?”
I groan. Cyrille has a hook-up downtown for the best white chocolate macadamia nut cookies I’ve ever tasted. And the witch refuses to tell me where she buys them.
“Slide them under the door!”
“Not a chance,” she cackles, still far too amused by this situation. “Come out and show me and you get a cookie.”
“I’m not a dog,” I grumble. That being said, I am absolutely conditioned to obey.
Grimacing, I slowly crack the closet open.
Cyrille backs away from the doors, motioning me out with both hands like the guys at the airport runway with the glowsticks. The bag of cookies sits behind her on the bed, and I briefly consider whether I can tackle her, grab the cookies, and get back to the closet before she sees anything.
But there’s no way.
“Come on,” she urges. “Open the door all the way, baby. Let’s see the damage.”
I open the doors wide and wrap my arms around my unfamiliarly full middle.
Cyrille’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God.”
“I know! I look—”
“Hot!”Cyrille grabs a cookie from the bag behind her and shoves it into my hand. Then she yanks my arms down and spins around, doing a full inspection of the itty bitty lingerie. “Absolutely, ridiculously, stupidly, almost offensively hot. Like, I’m mad about how hot you look.”
I glance down at the black silk set, trying to understand what Cyrille is seeing that I’m not. The top is lace. Right now, my bra is visible through the material, but once I took it off… well,Iwould be visible. The lace cuts in a V down my midsection, transitioning to silk that floats around the top of my thighs.
A few months ago, I would have loved this. But now, the lace pulls strangely over my round belly. No matter which way I turn or how hard I suck in, there’s an obvious bulge. It’s so large that the hem barely covers the matching lace panties.
I take a bite of a cookie and shake my head. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.” She crosses her fingers over her heart like she does with Ilya. “Seriously, Paige—you look smoking hot. I knew this would look amazing on you.”
“But… I look pregnant.”
She raises her brows, looking at me like I’m dumb. “Youarepregnant.”
“Yes, but I don’t need to announce that fact to the world tummy-first.”
“Why?” Cyrille argues. “Because pregnant women aren’t sexy? That’s bullshit. Real men love a pregnant woman. Especially one who’s carrying their child. Children, in your case. It hits some real primal, protective instincts.”
“But—”
“You’re keeping it,” she announces with finality. “More importantly, you’re wearing it. Your ass looks great, too.”
I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “I’m not used to thongs.”
“Well, get used to them. You asked for sexy and that’s what I brought you.”
“What are the other options?” I start to move past her towards the bag she brought, but Cyrille blocks me.
“We’ve gone through all of them.”
“Already? That was it?” Everything I’ve put on today made me feel like a blimp with legs.
She smiles. “You know what the most attractive quality in a woman is, Paige?”
