by A. D. Ryan
I smile, nodding toward the bedroom we still have yet to enter. “Come on, let’s take this to the bedroom.”
“Ready so soon?” she teases.
Chuckling, I take her by the hand and lead her to the room. “Give me a bit,” I reply. “I wanted to give you your present. It’s in there.”
She moans, following me through the door and sitting on the edge of my bed before flopping down on her back while I walk over to my tall dresser and grab the envelope that sits on top. “I’d be okay if what we just did in the hall was my present. That was fucking awesome.”
My pride swells—as does my cock—and I return to the bed. Looking down at her, I smile, admiring how her dark hair fans out around her head and her tits sit perfect and round on her chest.
“Then I guess I could always give these to someone else,” I tell her, not at all serious.
Amelia sits up quickly, and I find it hard to remove my eyes from her chest, even as she holds her hands out for the envelope. “Well, you’ve already gone to the trouble,” she tells me, her eyes wide and bright with curiosity.
I hand her the envelope and watch as she opens it. After removing the two tickets, she takes a minute to read them, her eyebrows furrowing as her eyes rise to mine. “Owen,” she says softly, making it hard for me to gauge her reaction to the unspoken invitation to my office New Year’s party. “Is this a good idea? I mean… Your coworkers and friends? What if Gretchen shows up? I wouldn’t put it past her…”
I sit next to her on the bed, urging her to face me as I place my hands on her knees. “Would it help to ease your worries if I told you this was a masquerade ball?”
Amelia’s breath catches in her throat, and I can see her apprehensions beginning to flit away as she imagines the possibilities. “A masquerade,” she repeats, dropping her eyes back to the tickets. “So, no one would suspect a thing.”
“No identities need to be revealed,” I assure her.
Slowly, her lips turn up into a smile, and her eyes find mine once more. “Then I guess I’ve got some shopping to do.”
19. All I Ask of You
I have exactly twenty-four hours to find the perfect dress for Owen’s office party. Attending something like this is definitely risky, especially given we haven’t really come out as a couple to anyone. Add to that, Gretchen’s showing up is a very real possibility since she’s a shareholder in his company.
It’s the small fact that this is a masquerade ball that sets my mind at ease.
After sharing the delicious breakfast he made, I kiss Owen goodbye and head out on my shopping trip. There’s one small snag in my plan though: I have no clue where to start looking for a ball gown. I’m comfortable enough in my own femininity that I enjoy dressing up and doing my hair and makeup, but going to balls? I can honestly say that the opportunity has never presented itself. One could make the argument about prom dress shopping, but that was prom. This is a ball. Prom dresses are a far cry from what I envision when I think of what one would wear to a ball.
Truthfully, I want to knock Owen’s socks off, and I don’t think a prom dress is going to do that. I figure the most it will serve to do is remind him of our age difference. Not exactly the best idea.
While I wait for my bus on the sidewalk, I grab my phone and dial Liz’s number. I know she’s still in Mexico, but if anyone would have a good idea where to shop, it’s her; her family is always attending fancy soirees and such.
“Hey, Amy! Happy almost New Year!” she greets excitedly. “How was Portland?”
I laugh. “It was pretty great. How’s Mexico?”
“Hot,” she replies with a laugh. “I got a pretty wicked tan, and I’m currently sitting on the beach with a couple of drinks while my parents do whatever it is they do this damn early. What are you up to? Any big plans for tomorrow night? The hotel we’re staying at is throwing a huge party, so I’m going to go to that.”
“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling you,” I admit. “I got invited to this party…a masquerade ball, to be specific.”
“Fun!” Liz exclaims. There’s a brief pause as I imagine her sitting up from her lounge chair and wrapping her arms around her knees, much like she does when we gossip on my bed before passing out. “Did your booty call guy invite you?”
Laughing again, I shake my head at her ridiculousness. “I thought I told you to stop calling him that. And yes. He did, actually.”
“Soooo…I guess that means the two of you have gone public?” she inquires curiously. “So now you can share with your best friend who he is?”
“Soon,” I assure her. “I promise.”
She doesn’t seem too surprised by my answer, but she does sigh with feigned exasperation. At least, I think it’s feigned.
“So, did you call me just to rub it in my face that you get to go to some fancy-schmancy party?”
“Asks the girl who gets invited to all the fancy-schmancy parties,” I quip, both of us laughing. “And no, actually. I was wondering if you could recommend a place for me to go to find a dress.”
Liz rambles off a list of dress shops as my bus comes into view, and I enter them into my phone so I don’t forget them. Before I hang up, Liz reminds me that I’ll need to stop by a party store to search for a masquerade mask, stating that a lot of shops carry them almost year-round since masquerade balls are becoming more and more popular.
I have zero luck in the first two dress shops on my list. Most of what I find in them are bridal gowns, and anything that isn’t white or ivory is taffeta and screams bridesmaid. I don’t want to wear a cotton-candy pink bridesmaid dress. While some of them are lovely, none of them are masquerade ball material.
For me, anyway.
The third shop I step into gives me hope. It’s not like the others—all crisp and formal, their walls lined with white bridal gowns—instead boasting a more modern feel in the rich colors of the tapestries, paint, and furniture. It’s not a large shop, and it doesn’t have nearly the number of dresses that the other two had, but what I’m seeing on the few mannequins that are scattered about draws me forward. These dresses are elegant, yet geared more toward my generation. They’re unique among the vast amounts of dresses that all looked the same in the other stores.
“Hello there,” a brunette saleswoman greets with a wide smile. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a white top with a gray blazer overtop—nothing like the pantsuit-clad women of the other shops. “What can I help you find today?”
Smiling, I regard her before glancing around the room again, hoping something catches my eye. “I’m going to a party tomorrow night—a masquerade ball, to be specific, and I need a dre—” I don’t even finish my sentence because all of my focus is on the mannequin across the room and the dress it wears. “That one,” I say softly, taking in the soft lines as I make my way toward it.
“Good eye,” the saleswoman says, following me.
I’ll admit, when I first started shopping in my mind, I’d imagined a corseted dress with elaborate beading or lace-work adorning it and a very full skirt. But this…this dress is exquisite. I reach out and run my fingers over the black lace that covers the white satin bodice, down over the fitted hips before tapering as the skirt flows out at the knee. More lace trims the hemline of the skirt, and I find myself unable to get over how beautiful and perfect this dress is.
“This is a one-of-a-kind gown by a local up-and-coming designer whom we have the pleasure of working with exclusively,” the saleswoman tells me, stepping around the mannequin and unzipping the gown. She removes the dress and leads me toward one of the fitting rooms. “I’m Jasmine,” she says, hanging the dress on an empty hanger and then putting it in my room.
“Amy,” I tell her, stepping into the fitting room and gripping the curtain. Hearing it’s the only one in existence worries me because what if it’s too big or too small? I won’t have time to get it altered before the party tomorrow, will I? It’s not something I’ve ever really had to think about or p
lan.
My pessimism is proven premature as I strip out of my jeans and long-sleeved shirt and slide the gown up my body, reaching behind me and pulling the zipper from the curve of my ass to where the dress dips into a deep V at the middle of my back. It fits like a glove, and I smile as I take in my reflection. Sure, my hair and makeup aren’t done, but it’s not hard to imagine how I’ll look on Owen’s arm tomorrow night.
“How are you doing in there, Amy?” Jasmine asks from behind the thick curtain as I run my hands over the fitted, lace-covered bodice, loving how soft it feels beneath my hands.
The dress hugs every curve, from the sweetheart neckline and low V-cut back, before it flows out at the knee. It’s the first dress I’ve even tried on, but I can’t imagine loving another as much. Instead of answering Jasmine from behind the curtain, I step out with a bright smile on my face. I need to know if someone else likes it as much as I do.
The look on her face is all the proof I need that this is the dress, and I bite my lower lip as I look in the three-way mirror positioned out here, turning and appreciating the back of the dress as well. “I’m afraid to ask how much,” I confess, not sure I can even afford this—even with my credit card that my dad funds since I don’t have a job. It’s not that I don’t want to work, but having gotten into school on a full scholarship, my parents had offered to pay for my apartment and anything I might need so long as I focused on my studies and kept my grades up. I worked all through high school and do have some money in my savings, but something tells me it won’t be enough for this dress, and that makes me feel pretty sullen. Perhaps I should have taken Owen up on his offer to help pay for my gown…
Jasmine is still beaming behind me, probably because she thinks she’s about to make a huge commission. “Actually, it’s on sale due to it being part of the old line.”
Oh, good. So instead of being three-thousand, it’s likely only two. Fantastic.
“Three,” she continues, and I choke on the breath of air I’ve taken in.
“Thousand?” I manage to squeak out, my fear coming true and suddenly feeling like the dress is constricting my airways. I look around, suddenly wondering if I wandered into one of those high-end specialty shops that those “Real Housewives” always shop in. My hopes of wearing this dress for Owen quickly slip away.
Jasmine laughs, confusing me. “Oh, no, honey,” she tells me, laying her hand on my arm. “Three-hundred dollars. Three figures, not four.”
Relief floods me and my previous elation returns like a flash of lightning. “You can’t be serious?” I can afford that! Even without that gift card Owen got me for Christmas or my credit card! Without hesitating, I nod emphatically, resisting the urge to hop up and down while clapping like a kid jacked up on sugar that was just told they were going to an amusement park. “I’ll take it!”
I step back behind the curtain and remove the dress, handing it through to Jasmine before even putting my clothes back on. I quickly dress and meet her at the till where she’s got the dress bagged in a black garment bag and hanging behind her. My next stop will be to the party store and then to Victoria’s Secret for a sexy bra and panty set to wear underneath. I mean, I did make myself a promise that that’s how I would spend Owen’s gift card.
And shoes! I’ll definitely need some sexy new pumps to pair with this dress.
I pull out my debit card and am waiting to hear my total when Jasmine glances up from the register with a look of realization. “You said this was a masquerade party, right?” I nod. “Do you have your mask?”
I shake my head back and forth. “No. I was going to head over to the party store, actually. My friend said they carry them over there.”
Jasmine’s lips turn up into a beautiful smile, and she turns around to the cabinet behind her, opening the top drawer and pulling out a box. When she sets it down, she opens the lid. I’m rendered momentarily stunned and speechless as I peer inside to find a sleek black masquerade mask sitting atop a blue velvet pillow. Looking up at Jasmine, I ask, “May I?” She nods her assent, and I reach inside and pick up the intricately designed mask.
It’s made of metal, but it’s so thin and light, that I can’t imagine it being bothersome. The mask isn’t a solid black piece; little lines, spaces, and filigree curls promise to still show the skin of my face. The right side is also higher than the left, winding up over where my temple will sit beneath it while the other side will sit along my brow and cheek bones. Looking at it, I know it won’t do as much to conceal my identity as the more traditional masks you see everywhere, but I figure I can play around with my eye makeup enough to help with that.
“H-how much?” I stammer, wondering if that even matters.
“Seventy-five,” Jasmine replies.
I decide to go for the extra purchase, because I’m fairly certain that anything I find at the party store now will only look like a cheap novelty piece now. $375 doesn’t seem unreasonable for a big party, right? I’ll probably have to wear a pair of heels I already own, but I’ve got a few pairs that could work quite well.
After paying for my dress and mask, I walk a few blocks over to the mall and head straight to Victoria’s Secret where I pick out a simple black strapless bra and a matching thong. It’s perhaps not the most risqué set of undergarments I own, but I don’t think Owen will notice; underwear is underwear to a guy, after all. Besides, I still have a little left on the gift card to surprise him at a later date.
It surprises me just how little time all of this took, and after only a couple hours, I’m back to waiting for my bus to Owen’s place. The entire time, I’m beyond anxious for the party tomorrow night, and moreover, to see the look on Owen’s face when he sees me all dolled up for the first time.
Owen’s not expecting me back at his place for another couple hours; I honestly thought it would take me the better part of today to find what I needed. I look forward to surprising him and spending the rest of the afternoon together. I step off the bus in front of his building and head through the front door, greeting the doorman with a curt nod. I don’t think he knows who I am, but he doesn’t try to stop me, either, so I continue on toward the elevator.
When I reach Owen’s floor, I adjusting the garment bag holding my dress in my arms, and walk briskly down the hall. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my keys and unlock the door. Excited, I step over the threshold, closing the door behind me, and rush toward the living room.
“Guess who got herself a sexy new dress for tomorrow night?” I call out, rounding the corner. “I’m not sure if I’m more excited for you to see me in it or for you to rip it off of me.” I stop dead in my tracks, choking on the words that have just spewed from my mouth as I take in the very unexpected sight before me. Inhaling sharply, my heart begins to race, thundering painfully against my ribs.
Owen has company, and I just outed our relationship to him.
“S-Stephen,” I squeak, my knees threatening to give out. He’s looking at me, his eyes wide and full of shock, and my first instinct is to flee the room. To hide somewhere and tell myself this didn’t just happen. It’s stupid and obviously not the best course of action or even going to work, but that’s where my brain goes in the moment.
His eyes move from me to Owen, and then he gives his head a quick shake as if to clear it. “Wait. What’s going on here?” he asks, but before either of us can answer, he carries on. “You two?” He points at Owen. “You’re the older guy she’s seeing?” He looks back at me. “And you’re the younger girl?”
A part of me still thought Stephen had it all figured out, but as he continues to stammer and move his gaze between us, I realize he didn’t know any more than anyone else, other than Carla.
Until I ruined it all.
Again.
Owen and I remain silent. I’m honestly not sure what to do, not that it matters, because Stephen stands up. I fear what he’s going to say, especially given Carla’s initial reaction to finding out.
“Well, this explains a lot,” h
e says, running his fingers through his short blond hair. He surprises us both, keeping his composure and drawing our eyes to his. He fixes his gaze on mine again, and I grow nervous. “Have you told your dad yet?”
I shake my head, my palm starting to sweat around the hanger holding my dress. “N-not yet. We’re telling him in a couple of days.” Before he can say anything else, I drop my dress and Victoria’s Secret bag to the floor and start toward him. “Look, Stephen—”
Holding his hands up, he shakes his head. “I told you not to justify your relationship. That’s between the two of you.” He pauses. “I mean, yeah, I’m a little surprised I didn’t see this for what it was, but you’re both happier than I’ve seen in a while. Nobody can deny that.” This time when he pauses, the air in the room thickens and feels foreboding. “This isn’t going to be easy, though. You guys know that, right? Alan’s going to flip his shit. It was one thing when he thought you were seeing some older guy…but his best friend?”
I lean against the wall, unable to hold myself up anymore, and thrust my fingers through my hair. “We know,” I assure him. “It’s why we were waiting until after Christmas.”
“Look,” Stephen continues, “I love you both, and as unusual as your situation is, I can see that you make each other happy. But you need to come clean. Remember what I told you, Amelia.”
I nod slowly as Stephen turns to Owen with an awkward smile, picking up a large envelope from the coffee table. “I should go,” he announces. “I’ll have these sent to Gretchen tomorrow, but everything’s in order.”
“Right. Thanks,” Owen replies, not looking at Stephen, his concerned gaze fixed on me instead.
As Stephen vacates the room, the condo door closing behind him, I slide to the floor, my hands shaking as I run them through my hair again, frustrated. “I can’t believe I did that,” I mumble, dropping my forehead to my bent knees and groaning.
I sense Owen’s presence before I feel his hands on mine, gently freeing them from my hair and pulling me to my feet. “You didn’t know he was here, and I didn’t think you’d be home for a couple more hours, otherwise I’d have called.” Owen smirks slightly before adding, “So I guess it’s safe to say he didn’t know at Christmas, huh?”
