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As I reached my door, my mother called me from a dressing room a few doors down. Cautiously, I moved to the other door, trying to smooth my hair and my dress so it wasn’t obvious what I had spent the afternoon doing.
The door opened to probably the most horrifying scene I could ever have imagined.
My mother stood in the middle of the room looking through dozens of racks of poofy white monstrosities. Three assistants fluttered around her, refilling her glass, and displaying design books. And Rose was huddled in the corner watching the carnage.
“There you are, perfect. We need to pick your wedding dress.”
“I thought we were going to the Wharton for tea,” I stupidly said.
Her eyes were laser-focused on me the second she heard the whine I wasn’t smart enough to suppress.
“Darling, you are going to have to fit into another wedding dress. The last thing you need is more carbs or sugar.”
She looked me up and down. “We should probably get you on a fasting diet as soon as possible. Maybe take you to the doctor and get you on that medication for obese people. You could clearly use it. No one wants to see a whale waddle down the aisle. No doubt this groom will run away screaming as well.”
Shame burned through my gut. Logically, I knew I was not overweight. For all our problems, Mr. Manwarring did not find me unattractive and would not be running from me at the altar. Her words were just thrown out there, intending to hurt me. No matter that I should be immune given how many times she tossed insults at me, they still cut deep.
“Of course, Mother.”
“Now we have a lot of work to do to find something that can make you pass for a beautiful bride.”
I bristled under her criticism, but I knew better than to say anything. Technically, there may have been other people in the room, but I knew, and my mother knew, they would never dare speak a single word against her. She was also not above moving from verbal to physical abuse, and Luc had already left me sore enough for one day.
“There are some undergarments sitting on your bed. Go shower and change into those, and I will pull the first few options for us to consider. I insisted on a full corset this time. If you won’t lose the weight, we will just force you to a smaller size.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rushed back to my room, stripped off my sundress, put my hair into a high twist to keep it dry, and stepped into the shower.
The water was scalding as I tried to scrub off the memory of Luc’s lips, his hands, and his cock. Or at least any outward sign of what we had been doing. I almost regretted it. As soon as his smell was washed away from my skin, replaced with my lemongrass body wash, I missed it.
My momentary regret was far less troublesome than whatever my mother was about to rain down.
My only goal for this upcoming interaction was to keep my mouth shut and not provoke her. The pours of champagne were no doubt heavy-handed, so she would already be in a mood.
Wrapped in the Egyptian cotton towel, I moved back to my room and saw a white box wrapped in a black ribbon sitting on my bed.
Lifting the lid, I found a white corset with white panties, a garter belt and silk thigh highs, and a white satin robe. I didn’t need to wear it all just to try on the dresses, but if I went back into that room without every bit of this on, it would further fuel my mother’s wrath.
So I did as I was told. Again. I tamped down my wants and my desires and did what she demanded of me. Marco was wrong. This was who I was, what I was.
As I wrapped the satin floor-length robe around me, I drew a deep breath and returned to the dressing room, hoping I could down a glass of champagne before the pain started.
Not for the first time, I wondered if I should hide a bottle of whisky in my room for these kinds of situations. But then I would end up being just as much of a drunk as she was.
“There you are.” My mother’s claws closed around my arm as she pulled me into the center of the room and put me on the large, carpeted pedestal there, my image reflected back from all the surrounding mirrors. “Stand there, and you”—she snapped her fingers at one of the girls— “grab the robe.”
I smiled at my sister, who hadn’t moved out of the corner. It helped to know she was there, even if she couldn’t do anything to help.
I slid off the robe and handed it to the poor assistant who’d been summoned, then reached for a glass of champagne, which my mother yanked out of my hands before I even got it halfway to my lips.
“Champagne is for brides who don’t need to lose at least ten pounds before their wedding.”
Losing ten pounds would make me medically underweight, but I didn’t dare point that out. What was health, when fashion was on the line?
“Put her in this.”
She tossed a dress to one of the other girls, who helped me into it. It was the ugliest thing I had ever seen, with ruffles and sequins all over the place. I couldn’t even put my arms down without risking crushing something on this taffeta-and-tulle monstrosity.
