Defending Her Dignity

by Jade Webb

  “I’m Yael,” I tell the second woman as I help her carry in one of the large suitcases. Just then, Julep decides to make an appearance. She’s improved a lot in the last few weeks and has learned to not run and ambush visitors. Still, when she rounds the corner, her long fluffy tail swinging from side to side, Genevieve places her hand over her heart and exclaims loudly.

  “Dear God, what is that thing?”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head and look at the ridiculous women. “It’s a dog,” I answer.

  “That… that is not a dog,” she says, shaking her head. “Must it be inside? We have so much work to do! And these gowns — they are couture!” She sounds absolutely horrified and I decide, since this was obviously a thoughtful gesture on Lawrence’s part, to do my best to not insult this incredibly oddly-dressed woman. Whistling, I lead Julep out back and throw out a toy for her to catch. “I’ll be back as soon as I can!” I call out to her before closing the glass doors.

  Returning to the foyer, I see the woman’s assistant lugging a large suitcase into the hall. The wheels skid on the marble floor, creating a loud squeak that earns Stephanie an annoyed look from Genevieve.

  “Stephanie, bring in the cart,” Genevieve orders, her fingers snapping at her young assistant. “Yael, dear, is there a service elevator here?”

  “Yes, right off the garage. I can help you bring the cart through the garage and then we can bring it upstairs.”

  Genevieve makes a tutting noise as she shakes her head. “The girl can handle it.” She waves her hand, sending Stephanie rushing back outside. I do my best to hide my annoyance, even as she starts to circle slowly around me, her hand cupping her chin as her eyes narrow and assess me. She makes no sound for a few minutes and I shift my weight, uncomfortable under her appraisal.

  “Mr. Monroe has tasked us with fitting you for a gown for the gala this weekend. He did give us some information,” she says, finally breaking the silence. Her eyes fall down to my boots and climb back up to the haphazard bun sitting on the top of my head. “But obviously, not everything. Nevertheless, we will find you a gown for the gala.” She starts to make her way down the hall, her head turning left and right to take in the whole house. When I don’t immediately follow, she spins on her heel. “Well, take me to your bedroom and let’s get started.”

  I suppress the urge to roll my eyes and grab the handle on the large black suitcase. When she sees me reach for it, she claps her hands. “No, no! Leave the bags for the girl!”

  “I’ve got this one,” I insist and before she can argue, I move past her, leading her to the staircase up to the second floor. I go up first, swinging the bag so I can carry it up the stairs. It’s easily fifty pounds, and I can’t imagine how Stephanie managed to carry it here by herself.

  As we reach the second-floor landing, I lead Genevieve to my room. Genevieve spins around, nodding approvingly.

  “What we can do is mix some of your own accessories with what I’ve brought to create a completely custom look. Point me to your closet,” Genevieve directs, and I point toward the French doors in the back corner of the large room.

  Genevieve walks over, somehow managing to stay upright in her stiletto heels while I take a seat in the oversized chair. She walks in and then steps back out a second later, a confused and worried expression on her face.

  “Darling, were you robbed?” she asks, her eyes wide with shock.

  “Robbed? No, I wasn’t robbed…”

  Genevieve places her hand on her heart and whips her glasses off her face. “My dear, that closet is entirely empty. That is sixty feet of prime real estate and it’s just…empty!”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t have many clothes.”

  Genevieve walks quickly toward me and places a hand on my head. I’m assuming the gesture is meant to be comforting, so I try not to immediately squirm out of her touch. “My dear, sweet girl. Thank goodness I came prepared.”

  As if on cue, Stephanie steps into the room pushing a large cart covered in a pale pink linen sheet. She stops in the middle of the room before rushing back out. Genevieve claps her hands in excitement and pulls the covering off the cart, revealing a dozen dresses in an array of different colors and fabrics, each more beautiful than the last.

  And even though I never even owned a dress until I was sixteen and have yet to own anything with any kind of sparkles on it, I can’t help but push myself out of my seat and walk straight to the dress rack. As I reach out to touch one of the gowns, an elegant black-and-white silk dress with colorful sequins on the bust, I feel another hand slap mine away.

  Genevieve stands beside me, her face strict and severe. “Stand against the wall there,” she orders. Though I stand a good four inches over her, and have at least thirty pounds on her, I still obediently take a few steps until I feel my back hit the wall. She is not messing around, and I am a bit worried about exactly what she is here to do.

  Genevieve narrows her eyes, assessing me. “Stand straight, my dear. You’re too young to slouch, and you need to show off the ta-tas.”

  “Ta-tas?”

  Genevieve rolls her eyes dramatically, steps toward me, and curls her long fingers to grip my breasts. My eyes pop open as Genevieve bounces my breasts in her hands. “These are your ta-tas.” She squeezes a little, sending me into a squirming fit to try and edge away, but she has me cornered against the wall. “And I’m thinking you must be a 34 C. Correct?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, when was the last time you had a bra fitting?”

  I shake my head slowly. “I only wear sports bras. Or one of those bras I can just pull on. I get them in a medium. Is that like a 34C?”

  Genevieve’s mouth drops open and she quickly snaps her hands away from me to prop them on her hips. “Oh, this is much more work than I anticipated.” She walks away, shaking her head. Luckily Stephanie comes back, saving me from Genevieve’s disappointment and grabby hands.

  Turning on her heel, Genevieve forces a smile to her face. “The Herrera!” she announces, thrusting her finger in the air. Pivoting to face Stephanie, she declares, “And the gold Manolos!” Stephanie nods, seemingly understanding this foreign and cryptic language, and drops to the floor to unzip the large suitcase she had just hauled into the bedroom. Genevieve’s quick hands sort through the rack of dresses until she pulls out a gorgeous silk champagne-colored gown. She holds it high in the air and looks at it, then at me, and then back at the dress, a smile on her face. “This is the one.”

  I nod, not knowing what else to do. Genevieve watches me, the smile quickly disappearing from her face. “Well, get undressed, my dear. We don’t have all day!”

  I look at her confused. “What? Here?”

  Genevieve rolls her eyes and snaps her long fingers. “Yes. Here. Now,” she bites back impatiently.

  Knowing better than to argue with this terrifying woman, I scramble out of my clothes, first pulling my shirt over my head, then kicking off my boots. I slide my jeans off my hips and stand awkwardly under Genevieve’s penetrating stare.

  “The bra, dear.”

  I reluctantly pull my bra over my head and cross my arms over my chest. Genevieve snaps her fingers again, sending Stephanie over with the gown in hand. She crouches beside me, pooling the dress beneath me—careful not to wrinkle the delicate silk material—and allowing me to step into it. Stephanie pulls the dress up, wiggling it to get past my hips. I slide my arms into the butterfly sleeves and then Stephanie steps behind me to zip up the remainder of the dress. Once done, she steps to the side, a satisfied smile on her face as she nods approvingly at me.

  “Let’s try the shoes, now,” Genevieve says, pointing at the gold heels in front of me. They are easily five inches and the tallest heel I’ve ever worn. I am not anticipating this will end well. I carefully step into one shoe and then the next. My ankles wobble as I try to stabilize myself. After a few seconds, I finally stop swaying and look up, giving Genevie
ve and Stephanie a victorious smile.

  At the completed look, Genevieve’s scowl finally fades from her face, a pleased smile replacing it. “Well, go look in the mirror!”

  I take a few tentative steps toward the long mirror mounted on the wall. The heels will definitely require some practice. Once I reach the mirror, I can’t help but let out a surprised gasp. I’ve never seen myself dressed in something so elegant before.

  Even someone like me, who doesn’t understand the basic fundamentals of fashion, can see that this dress is a masterpiece: hugging every curve, and accentuating every womanly feature my body possesses, and I had long forgotten about, this dress makes me feel like a woman. A beautiful, elegant and desirable woman. God, I might even be mistaken for someone who is even mildly sophisticated in this dress. Soft sleeves drape on either side, leaving my collarbone and the peaks of my breasts exposed. The dress then gathers at my waist before gently flaring out in soft, feminine layers. The high slit of the dress hits me mid-thigh and, thanks to the generous added height from the heels, makes my legs look long and lean.

  I turn, catching my reflection to the side. Genevieve comes up behind me and looks back to Stephanie. “I knew this was it.” She pulls my hair out of my makeshift bun, letting it fall around my shoulders in soft curls. “Leave your hair down. Don’t wear too much makeup. Keep the nails simple. The dress is what everyone will see.”

  I nod along, pretending I understand what she’s saying. She catches on and gives me another dramatic eye roll. “Stephanie will give you all the makeup and show you how to use it. Remember, less is more when wearing a gown such as this. And be careful when hanging this. If you get any wrinkles, you can steam it, but only on low. When you wear it, get someone to help you. You’ll need help zipping it all the way.”

  I nod along, only half listening, my gaze still fully glued on my unrecognizable image in the mirror.

  She passes on a few more instructions to Stephanie before giving me a loud air kiss and dismissing herself, announcing that her “work here is done!” After Stephanie helps me out of the dress and lets me put back on my usual get-up, she walks me through the makeup she brought for me, carefully explaining the many different products and writing down a guide for me when she realizes everything she is telling me is going in one ear and out the other.

  After another hour, she also heads out. I help her back down the elevator and load everything into the small van. As she pulls away, I rush back up the stairs to look again at the dress hanging in the closet. It’s the only item hanging in the closet at all.

  And while I know that my time here with Lawrence and Isabel is short-lived, a fairytale with an expiration date, I can’t quell my excitement at the idea that for one night, I get to be the princess in the story. And while I know there is no happily-ever-after in the books for me, I’m happy to settle for just one night. Because one night will simply have to be enough.

  22

  Lawrence

  I tug at my bowtie, feeling suffocated by this stupid piece of fabric around my neck. I hate these types of events: the endless parade of everyone trying to one-up each other. Who has the biggest jewels, the youngest wife with the best tits. It’s all a joke. And yet I continue to play the game. I make the small talk, puff on my cigar, laugh at the stupid jokes, and sign my name on the check. It’s all so predictable and exhausting.

  And yet I can’t help but feel the tiniest prickle of excitement. Because tonight will be different. Because she’s coming.

  I know I was an ass for forcing her to come, and I’ve done a shit job all week of trying to convince myself that it was a thoughtful gesture on my part, to insist on her coming, rather than what it really was: a thinly veiled attempt to deter her from going on a date with that barista. Because I’m a selfish ass who wants to keep her all to myself. Hopefully tonight I can make it up to her and show her I’m not the Neanderthal she’s likely convinced I am.

  I click through a few more emails, hoping to distract myself from the building anticipation of tonight. Luckily, Isabel chooses the moment to jump into my study. She’s wearing her new favorite outfit: a white gei with a karate belt tied tightly across her waist. Her blonde curls are plaited into two long braids that fall down her back.

  “Dad, when are we leaving? I want to show Aunt Daphni my gei!”

  I look down at my watch and nod. “Let me go check on Yael and see if she’s ready. Did you pack your bag for your sleepover tonight?” Isabel nods her head. “Okay, good. Why don’t you run up and grab it and we’ll leave in ten minutes?”

  Isabel lets out a squeal of excitement and rushes to grab her bag. With Daphni’s crazy schedule, Isabel doesn’t get to see her aunt too often, so tonight is a rare treat for her.

  I follow behind her up the stairs. As I walk toward Yael’s door, I can hear her shuffling inside her room. Her bedroom door is just slightly ajar, open enough for me to look inside. Enough for me to catch my breath in my throat at the sight of her.

  She looks gorgeous. She’s wearing a champagne gown that hugs her small, tight frame, tapering off over the expanse of her hips and offering a generous view of her lean legs. It’s in stark contrast to her usual uniform of jeans, boots, and T-shirts that were usually enough to get me hard from just looking. But to have to spend the entire evening with her looking like this? There was no scenario where we could spend the night together, with her in that dress, without me hard as rock and salivating at the need to have just one more taste of her — especially now that I know how sweet her lips are.

  I continue to watch her, mesmerized. Her long, dark hair cascades down her back as she twists around, trying to catch the zipper of the dress behind her. Like a dog chasing its tail, she keeps spinning, trying to catch the zipper to pull it up all the way. Each failed attempt yields another string of curses in a hybrid mix of English and what I am assuming is Hebrew.

  I bite back a laugh and knock on her door, pushing it open. Her bright, brown eyes look up in alarm as she sees me. Her cheeks flush a dark red, and it looks so good on her. I rarely get to see her blush, never get to see her flustered. She’s always in control. But tonight, in that dress, she doesn’t look anything like the tough, no-bullshit Yael I’ve come to know. It’s as if the dress not only shows a different side of her physically, but also allows her to show a part of her personality that she’s kept hidden.

  I stand in her doorframe, not saying a word. Her eyes scorch over me with the same hunger I feel in myself. I catch the instant her breath hitches and watch with hunger as she bites down on her lower lip, her brown eyes greedy as she takes me in, too. It’s then that I feel, without a shadow of a doubt, she wants this too. And if it’s possible, it makes me even harder, makes my pulse race even faster, makes me want her even more.

  “Do you, uh, need?” I ask her, gesturing with my hands at her zipper. Apparently seeing Yael in this dress has also made me lose my ability to form basic sentences.

  She offers me a grateful smile and nods. “I can’t seem to catch it.”

  I close the distance between us, stepping behind her. The zipper of her dress is down on her lower back, just above the swell of her gorgeous ass. I want nothing more than to force the zipper back down, to reveal more of what Yael has been hiding away. I want to know every secret. What kind of panties is she wearing tonight? What does she smell like? God, what does she taste like?

  I suck in a breath and with one hand braced on her hip, I use the other to guide the zipper up her back. The zipper catches, accidentally grazing her skin and she jumps back up against me. When her back presses against me, I know she can feel my hardening cock against her ass when her body tenses.

  “Sorry,” I mumble as I bring my hand up to hold the fabric of the dress away from her skin and finish zipping up her gown. Still, she doesn’t pull away. And I don’t move back. Not that I could. Being so close to her, my legs feel like they are locked in cement, and I’m unable to move, or even breath.

  My breath falls on her neck
and I can see she’s just as affected by whatever is happening between us. I watch, mesmerized, as her breasts rise and fall, her breaths shallow. I dip my head and let my lips graze over her ear. At the light contact, Yael lets out an almost inaudible sigh, and I make a mental note to add that to my soundtrack. I want her so badly, my body is literally aching with need. And seeing her in this dress is now just pure fucking torture.

  Her name rolls off my tongue, just above a whisper. I don’t want to break this moment, but I need to see her, need to look in her eyes and see that she wants this just as much as I do. Gently, I move her to face me, turning her so we’re face-to-face.

  When she looks at me and her big, dark umber eyes find mine, I know I’m done. I’m defeated and she’s won. Because as much as we try to fight this, whatever it is we have, when our eyes lock it’s as obvious as fucking day that there is some tangible spark pulling us together—something that I need to uncover before this woman ruins me forever.

  Each passing moment feels like forever as we stare at each other. And I can’t fight my eyes when they dip down to look at her full, plump lips painted a dark red. Those same lips that she’s used to put me in my place, telling me I’m an asshole under her breath. Those lips that have haunted me every day since she first showed up on my doorstep two months ago.

  “Yael, I know you said you didn’t, and I won’t do anything you don’t want to do, but —“

  Before I can finish, the sound of Isabel’s bedroom door slamming closed rips us out of the haze and thrust us both back into reality. Yael jumps away, her eyes wide, and my stomach sinks as I can see the instant the pang of shock and regret hit her. I let out a curse under my breath and rake a frustrated hand through my hair.

  As she passes the room, Isabel’s smiling face pokes into the room. “Sorry for slamming the door! But can we go now? I want to see Aunt Daphni!” she whines when she sees me. When she turns to Yael, her eyes pop open. “Yael!” she squeals. “You look so pretty! Dad, doesn’t Yael look so pretty?”