“You’re not even going to deny it?” I ask while I fasten the strap. Then it dawns on me he just said no panties. “And what do you mean no panties? What if I… I don’t know, need them?”
“Why would you need them?” he asks, but his back is to me while he’s getting the dress off the hanger, so I’m not sure if the tightness in his voice means he’s amused or impatient.
“To keep me… clean or something. It feels terribly indecent.”
“I don’t want you decent,” he says, as if that’s explanation enough. My eyes roll heavenward, and I’m grateful he’s occupied taking the dress off the hanger, because he probably wouldn’t be cool with me rolling my eyes at him.
When he turns to me, I can’t help but admire how pretty it is. The pale blue gown with silver and lace accents dips into a low vee in the front, and I wonder if it will even cover my… ample assets. A filmy overlay gives the gown an almost ethereal appearance, as if I’m wearing something made of fairy dust. I don’t know how much this is worth, but I know I’ve never even touched anything worth what this is in my life. How did they know it would fit me?
He bends with the dress in hand. “Hold onto my shoulders.” With a sigh, I comply, stepping into the dress and allowing him to dress me. In silence, he gently spins me around so he can zip me up and fasten the little buttons in the very back.
“Turn around, now,” he says. I do, not looking at him. My bust looks good, I guess. It sure feels ample and… bare. But the sleeves don’t hide my arms, I still have a rounded belly under which there are curves upon curves. But when he takes me to the full-length mirror in the corner of the massive bathroom, I stare.
I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. Beneath the makeup I’m wearing, I can still see the scar. This is me. Scars don’t just magically vanish. But I’m not this beautiful. What magic did he work? I turn around in wonder, alarmed at how some preening and this dress have impacted my overall appearance so quickly.
Standing behind me, he takes hold of my waist, his hands spanning either side.
“You are beautiful,” he says with emphasis, as if he’s already predicted my response and knows how uncomfortable this makes me. I prefer being hidden and unobtrusive. I hate the idea of attracting anyone’s attention, because God forbid, they think I’m worthy of attention.
I shake my head. “I don’t like this,” I tell him. “Not at all. Please don’t make me go.” I turn away from the mirror, unable to look at myself for another minute. But his grip on my waist tightens when I try to pull away.
“You have no choice in this.”
“Why not?” I say, my emotions rising. I swallow hard and stare at the floor. I don’t want to look at myself again.
“I’ve already explained to you,” he says tightly. “You’re expected to show yourself to others as my wife. And because I asked.”
To my surprise, his hand comes to my chin and he yanks my face back up, making me look back at the mirror. He grips my chin in his fingers. “You are beautiful. Say it.”
I clench my jaw. His grip on my face tightens.
“Caroline.” There’s warning in his voice I’ve already learned to heed.
“I’m beautiful,” I lie.
He holds my gaze in the mirror, his full of determination and bossiness and mine full of anger and denial. He actually smiles.
“Keep that fire,” he says. “It colors your cheeks and I quite like it.”
I open my mouth to protest, when I realize his command to stay feisty makes my response complicated. Has he tricked me? If I snap at him or act like the little brat he calls me, I’ll be giving him exactly what he wants. I open my mouth to protest, even though I’m not sure what I’ll actually say, when he turns me to face him. Holding my gaze with challenge in his eyes, he lifts my face, bends down, and captures my mouth with his, not bothering to even ask permission with the brush of lips but plundering me with firm, purposeful lashes of his tongue against mine. My knees buckle and I move involuntarily closer to him, my arms grasping his neck for purchase before I swoon, and I will not swoon.
With his lips on mine, I can believe for a minute that he has the potential of being so much more than the man I’m shackled to for life. In my mind, I tell myself to resist this, not to allow him to seduce me and master my thoughts and actions so skillfully. But I can’t help it. Damn it, I’m only human and his kiss tricks me into believing there’s a hint of passion in all this.