by H. M. Ward
Bella steps out from behind the counter and ditches the duster on top of it. She presses her hands in front of a Donna Reed-style dress complete with poufy petty coat and apron. The entire outfit is layers of black, an ink colored blouse with ebony buttons trimmed with charcoal lace down the front and tucked into a wide stone colored belt. A thick, black on black striped circle skirt stopped just below the knee. Coupled with black stockings and heels, she seems like an emo Stepford wife. There’s a shock of white hair extending from a pointy widow’s peak. It’s twisted into her victory curls, pinned to her head, with a loose ponytail hanging in the back.
She eyes me wearily, then my bump. “And who is this?”
“This is my wife,” Sean says it with pride. “And the reason we came here is that you’re the best and she requires something a little different. We need it fast.” Sean practically growls the words.
Sean’s old demeanor donned like a suit. Oddly enough, it still fits him. That swagger, the roughness to him coupled with the icy eyes speaks volumes. It finally dawns on me that, while I can see a softer side to Sean, he can still flip to dark mode. There is no apprehension while he does it either. Sean’s lean body is poised, rigid, one hip against the black counter with the gray granite top. His other arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me like his possession.
Bella cocks her head to the side, places a manicured hand on her waist. “Well, then, let’s get started. Exactly what are you looking for? You know my specialty lies more toward macabre than,” she pauses and flicks a dark eyebrow high as she eyes my outfit, then returns her gaze to Sean, “that.”
“Maternity stores don’t have what she’s looking for. We want an entire wardrobe. Whatever she wants.” Sean’s voice is firm, but I feel the warmth of his hand on my back.
“Sean, I can’t—” I glance at him, not sure what he expects me to get here.
“You should dress how you feel. You’re not polka dots and cute right now. You’re a badass. You’re a survivor. You’re someone not to fuck with. The fact that your pregnant doesn’t change that. What would you be wearing if you weren’t with child?”
I smirk. Sean flips to formal mode sometimes, like he’s at prep school. “I don’t know. Black. Leather. Thigh high boots. A thick jacket. Nothing bright. And not that.” I point at Bella’s outfit.
Bella slips her tongue over her teeth revealing a silver barbell before she laughs softly. “What crawled up your ass, honey?” She glances at Sean and lowers her false lashes and smiles with those huge painted lips. “Oh, right. I’d be bent out of shape too.”
Sean gives Bella a look that makes her retreat behind the counter, but I don’t want him defending me. Something inside the foggy mess of my mind sparks to life. “Listen. I get it, I’m just not into that—”
“Era?” Bella says surely, her neck long and her chin up. Proud.
“No, beavers. You may use that whole Leave it to Beaver outfit as a calling card, but that’s not what I want.” I feel feisty. I think pregnancy hormones are making me bitchy but I’m not totally certain since Sean is suppressing a grin.
Bella snorts. Touches a hand to her hair. “Then what do you want, Barbie? Because I’m not here to play dress up with the knocked-up version of Rainbow Brite.”
I laugh. Loud and hard. It makes me wince and put a hand on my belly. I glance at Sean, “Anything?”
“Go for it.” He backs up and lifts himself onto the counter, legs hanging over the edge. “Leather, suede, knit, lace, whatever you want, she can make.”
A smile spills across my lips. There’s a strange ache like I’ve not used those muscles in a long time. I rub my palms together and walk over to Bella, “Come on emo Mary Poppins. Let’s get this baby mama feeling more like herself.”
Bella eyes me, her lips in a crooked grin, before she glances back at Sean. “It’ll cost you, Ferro.”
He lifts a hand, waving her off. “I wouldn’t expect any less of you.”
CHAPTER 4
SUNDAY AFTERNOON
It’s strange how clothes can make you feel like you. Or someone else. Someone completely different. The happy crap from the maternity stores was strangling me. It’s not that I’m not excited about the babies. I am. It’s just I don’t know how to live this life I’ve been thrust into. There’s a permanently damaged part of me, and I have no idea what to do with it. But it rears its head and vomits at pink polka dots and ruffles. Whoever decided that pregnant women all wanted to look round and cute was insane.
This is a million times better. More me. A mix of past and present. Darkness and light. At first, I was hesitant but Bella made a few suggestions. Take this in here, let that out there. Combine this fabric with this metallic thread. I’m hooked. I didn’t know clothing could be so customized. It’s not just, “put these shoes with this skirt.” No, my outfits are as different as Bella’s emo Betty Crocker get-up.
A few alterations later, and I’ve found my new look. Freedom from cute and perky. Bella altered a few pieces while I was in her shop. My favorite, the one I’m wearing now, was a full-length black croqueted corset. It originally stretched from bust to hip, but Bella cut it off above the waist, just under the bust, right above the swell of the baby bump. Other things were done to increase comfort and my everchanging body. She replaced the steel boning with plastic, added thick elastic side panels, and cut away some of the stiff fabric. Those flexible panels are hidden by my arms, but the texture change on the sides is interesting to look at too. It’s pretty. In a badass way.
Bella made the corset curve easier to my figure. I don’t feel crushed like I did the last time I wore one of these. Finally, Bella added a stiff seam to the hem so the plastic boning won’t jab into the babies. She pulled the leather straps used to lace the back of the corset and replaced it with a metallic silver ribbon. Two pieces of lace were tacked onto the shoulders, making a cap sleeve at the top of each arm. No ruffle.
The way she made this outfit will accommodate me up until I have the babies and then after. She also said a corset will feel good after they’re born, so I ordered a long-waisted one for later.
Bella shoves a pencil behind her ear, and tugs at the measuring tape around her neck as she looks over her creation. There’s a knowing smirk on her lips as if she already knows what I’ll say. There’s a confident tone in her voice when she asks, “Well? What do you think?”
I’m barefoot in her back room wearing the modified corset with an A-line skirt that flares above the knee. There’s a pair of gray and white Chucks on the chair behind me, the type that laces up the calf all the way to the knee. There’s a long silver streak up the back of the heel. It glitters slightly.
Pressing my lips together, I repress a smile as I glance in the mirror, then at the sneakers. The woman in the mirror isn’t the old me. She’s not the Avery that never knew Sean. That girl is gone. At the same time, she’s not the new me either. I’ve landed somewhere in between. It’s “Preggers Avery” with a dash of darkness and a smidgen of glitter. I’m an emo pregnancy unicorn. The thought cracks the smile across my face.
“Fuck, yeah. Called it.” Bella raises her hands in the air and then snaps.
Grudgingly, I nod. “Yeah, fine. You nailed it. One look in the mirror and I want more. This is amazing. I twist at the waist and I’m not stuck. The garment moves with me. I can move! And…this,” I run my fingers over the corseted top, tracing the slick dark fabric. “I love it.”
Bella grunts with approval. “Good, then let’s take care the rest of this. Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you need to ignore all that.” She gestures toward my bottom.
I look down at the skirt that’s hiding my huge granny panties and frown. “No one makes pretty maternity panties.”
“I do.” Her dark eyebrow climbs up on one side as she folds her arms over her chest. She sighs and lifts a finger, pointing at the undies beneath the skirt. “And you’ll burn those as soon I get my knickers to you.”
“If they can deal
with the bump and my ever-growing ass, sure. But if they don’t stay put and crawl all over the place—” I’m making a face as I relive some sexy items Sean bought me before the babies came into the picture.
Bella scoffs, “Nothing will crawl all over you unless you want it to. So, butterfly, crotchless, tear away, snaps?”
“What?” I stare at the woman like she has two head.
“Oh, dear God.” Bella pinches the bridge of her nose for a second before sucking in a deep breath and then looking up at me with a deranged grin. “I’ll make a mixed lot for you.”
Raising a finger, I open my mouth to tell her that function outranks form, but she cuts me off.
“I know. Comfort and function are musts.”
After that, we went back into the supply room where she had bolts of fabric in a million shades of black to dark gray. I point at a few and then she takes a few more bolts of fabric from below the counter. As she piles them up on her workspace, she snatches a bolt of leather, takes her sheers, and cuts off a piece. A few measurements later and I’m wearing a leather A-line skirt. It’s high waisted so it bumps up against the corset top. She pulls a pair of Mary Janes with silver tipped toes and slips my feet into them.
“What about the Chucks?” I ask.
Bella shrugs. “These are for when you can’t stand the thought of lacing those up.”
Peering down at my silver-toed shoe, I twist it one way and then the other. A smile spills across my lips. Perfection. The clothing matches my mood. I can move. I can breathe. I feel dark and light. Maybe a bit shiny. And it’s okay.
CHAPTER 5
Sean’s fingers are laced through mine as we walk down the street. “Goth pregger chick” and a Ferro. Life as it’s meant to be. The corset has my boobs so high that it makes my figure look super curvy. I feel like a goddess even though I’m stretched and have a round belly poking forward. The skirt drapes over the twins, showing them off rather than concealing them with ruffles or pleats. I left my hair loose, long dark curls hanging down my back.
Sean looks me over, squeezes my hand before saying, “You seem like you feel a little better.”
I nod. “I do. Thank you. I was a little concerned when we first went in there.”
He laughs. “I know. I saw your face.”
I bump him with my shoulder, but he doesn’t move. The man is a wall of muscle. Repressing a grin, I squeeze his hand harder, jerk his arm a bit. Then I lean in and whisper, “I can’t believe you can still surprise me.”
“I can’t believe you can’t believe it.” Sean laughs. It’s that rich deep sound that makes me want to curl into him and never let go. “We tend to shock the hell outta each other.”
I snort. “Nice grammar, Mr. Prep School. So, what’d you do while Bella was sewing this outfit?”
“I went shopping for myself, made a few calls.”
“Calls?” I stop walking and stand in the middle of the city sidewalk. The sun is setting and it’s getting chilly.
“That’s the part you want to ask about?” Sean stops, turning toward me as he rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Really? You don’t want to ask if I engaged with the orgy couples? Or what I bought?”
I smirk up at him. His eyes don’t stray. I’ve noticed. I humor him. “Did you join them?”
His sapphire eyes bore into mine. “No. I have exactly what I want.”
Swallowing hard, I nod. My teeth graze my lower lip, feeling that more is coming as we start walking again, his fingers thread with mine. “And the phone call?”
He swings our hands as a playful grin spreads across his face. “To Dr. Liz.”
I stop suddenly, lurching him around to face me. “Why?”
“I wanted to see if it would be safe for you to do certain things. I was given guidelines, assurances, and told specific directions. The doctor gave me her cell number too.”
I frown at him, feeling my cheeks heat. “What did you ask her that would make her give you her number?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. I was completely honest.” He leans forward and presses his lips to my ear, whispering what he told her—the things he wants to do to me.
Jaw flapping, I step back and giggle, shoving him in the chest and then turning to walk away as nonsensical words tumble out of my mouth. I gape at him. “You said that! To her?”
He nods. “Why not?”
“Because!” I shove his chest again.
“Your face is bright red, badass. Are you embarrassed?” Sean chuckles as his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my reaction.
“No!” It’s a huge lie. I’m dying inside. I want to cover my face and hide under a sewer cap. Maybe after we do the things he asked about. I glance up at him from between my fingertips. “Well?”
Sean laughs, those dark lashes lowering as he examines me. As he steps toward me, he rests his hands on my waist, “Well, what Miss Smith?”
The smile on my face is so big that it’s going to eat my head. “You know, what! Tell me what she said.”
People around us stop and stare. A camera flash goes off as a paparazzo steals a shot of us. He doesn’t run this time. The guy lingers as he should, but his camera hovers by his eye, ready to grab another picture should the moment arise.
Sean gives him the picture, let’s the guy take the shot. Sean leans in and kisses my cheek. His arms around my waist, hands resting on my belly. Those warm luscious lips pressed to my cheek. My hands are on top of his, lashes lowered, face still crimson. The bit of wind that blows lifts my hair and the flash goes off. When I look up, the guy with the camera is gone.
I glance at Sean. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did no such thing.” He’s so close that I can feel his warmth. We’re toe-to-toe on a city sidewalk. Even though there are people around, it feels intimate.
“Yes, you did,” I insist. Sean’s a breath away now. Inching closer to my face, his eyes locked on my lips. “You gave him that shot.”
“Maybe. Maybe I wanted it.” Those blue eyes dart up and meet mine. He lifts a brow and confesses, “I refuse to use a selfie stick.”
I honk out a laugh, pressing my hands to my belly. Tears form at the edges of my eyes as I feel a tiny foot brush my ribs. I finally smile up at him again. “So, tell me. What did she say?”
Sean leans in close. “The doc said yes.”
This time the blush spreads to consume my entire body.
CHAPTER 6
We meander back to the penthouse. I’m feeling better than usual, less like a floundering crazy person. I hope it doesn’t vanish, so I try to live in the moment and not think about anything else.
Sean takes care of dinner, working in the kitchen. The smell fills the place, finally reaching me back in the bedroom where I’m sitting on a leather chair, reading a book. The scent lures me from the room. I’ve kicked off the shoes and stockings, but I still have on the half corset and skirt. Padding down the hallway, I find Sean in the kitchen with an apron tucked tightly around his narrow waist, holding a saucepan. He tips it to the side, spilling the contents over a bed of noodles.
My mouth waters. “Oh my God, is that what I think it is?”
“Fettuccini and veal scaloppini. Just for you.” He flicks his gaze up and holds mine, a smile spreads across his lips. “Plus, a little bottle of baby-friendly booze.”
“Really?” He nods, pointing toward a bag on the counter as he dishes up the food.
“It smells so good.” I want to lick the pan right now. I open the brown paper bag on the counter and look inside. There’s a pink shiny bottle. It’s a mini champagne bottle. “What is this?”
“It’s a non-alcoholic rosé sparkling apple cider.”
“Where’d you find it?” I try to open the bottle and can’t, so I just walk it to the table and put it down.
“This is New York. You can find anything if you look.” Sean carries out two plates of food, that apron still tucked around his waist. He looks so good and I haven’t been with him for a while. I miss the feel of
his skin beneath my hands. He glances up at me. “Sit.”
I practically orgasm over the food. It’s light and delicious. Oddly, the cider is perfectly paired with the meal. Sean has some too, skipping his usual scotch. When we’ve finished eating, he watches me, his eyes dipping to the corset top. “Is that comfortable? I’m surprised you didn’t take it off right away.”
I rip off a piece of bread and pop it in my mouth. Nodding, I confess, “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d be able to wear it like this. It’s like a sports bra but has more support. Lifts instead of smooshing.” I smile and glance up at him. “I love it. This was a great gift. Thank you.”
“I bought you something else today.” He lifts a bag with Bella’s logo on it. Puts it on the table.
I press my lips together and lift my eyes to meet his. Heart pounding, I ask, “Is this what you asked the doctor about?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to do this tonight?”
He leans forward, intense, and takes my hand. “If you want to.”
The truth is, I don’t know what I want. I’m angry. I haven’t wanted to do something where I took it out on him by accident. I’m suddenly looking at the wall, avoiding his gaze.
“Avery, tell me.” His words are kind. An invitation.
Lifting my lashes, I glance back at him and confess. The swirl of emotions is so unpredictable. The anger. The rage. It’s not gone. “I don’t want to hurt you or the baby. I don’t want to lose control because I don’t know what I’ll do.”
He nods slowly, steepling his fingers together. Watches me, considers his words, and says, “Look in the bag and then tell me your answer. We can find something else to do. Or you can choose that. It’s your call. I won’t push you.”
Hesitantly, I reach for the bag and pull it toward me. I reach in and feel several sensations—silk, leather, wood. I pull out items one at a time and turn them over in my hands. Leather cuffs with chains. Silk ribbons. A soft blindfold. A feather duster made with fine soft down. Shimmering powder. And a bundle of straps. The spot between my legs is warm from just talking about this.
