Little Black Dress

by Sarah O'Rourke

  Lucy shrugged, blatantly unconcerned by both Abby’s question and loss of composure. “Oh, please! Do I have to think of everything? I know you keep scissors in your nightstand. He’ll be both naked and vulnerable. Do the math,” the other woman said dryly. “If he’s stupid enough to have an affair, do what you gotta do. I’ll happily be your alibi and help you bury the body. Plus, you’ll get the benefit of having just had one last great lay. It’s really a win/win situation,” Lucy noted, leaning toward the nightstand to snatch a couple of tissues from the box beside the bed and pushing them into Abby’s hand. “Now, save those tears for your pillow, girl. We’ve got ninety minutes to get you looking like a million bucks and plate up the dinner I’m having delivered from DeMonico’s. I remember you telling me that Whit loved their fettuccine alfredo.”

  “You ordered food for us, too?” Abby sniffled, wiping her nose with one of the tissues. “When?” she asked, unable to believe how quickly her little sister could get things done. Hell, it took her an hour just to decide what to prepare for dinner.

  “I called them while I was tossing your closet for a decent dress,” Lucy replied, pulling Abigail back to her feet and pointing her toward the bathroom. “I might not completely know what I wanna be when I grow up, but I have learned to multi-task. Now, you go get a shower and try to remember you’re still a young, vibrant woman who has a husband who loves her,” she ordered sternly, pushing her sister toward the en suite bathroom.

  Sniffling again, Abby paused outside the bathroom door and turned to look at her smiling sister. “You’re sure about this? It’s what you’d do if you were me?”

  “Honey, I would have done this weeks ago,” Lucy returned softly. “You need reassurance from your husband, and he needs to hold his wife in his arms. I know you, sis. When you hurt, you distance yourself from the pain to keep from feeling too deeply. I’m willing to bet Whit feels just as lost as you do. It’s time to reconnect. And this lucky dress,” Luce continued, dangling the hanger holding Abby’s little black dress in front of her, “is gonna help do the trick.”

  Biting her lip, Abby nodded slowly and reached for the hanger. “Maybe you’re right. It can’t hurt to try something new, right?”

  “Be brave, Abigail,” Lucy encouraged as Abby took the dress.

  Abigail nodded once more at her sister before turning to step into the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned heavily against it. “Be brave,” she repeated in a whisper as she stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall above the sink. “Courage in the face of being scared shitless….just another day in the life of Abigail Layne Lehigh.” Holding the tiny black dress hanging from the hanger in front of her, Abby looked at it hopefully. “Don’t let me down, LBD. Do the job you were designed to do for me just once more and help me snare my guy one more time,” she begged the little black dress.

  Sadly, the dress never answered her back.

  Chapter Two

  Looking up from reading the texts on his phone again for the eighth time in half an hour, Whitlock Lehigh ran another hand through his neatly trimmed hair. Still mostly black, but graying at the temples, the locks barely moved as Whit leaned back in his comfortable leather office chair and stared at the picture of his wife on the corner of his desk. He needed to be concentrating on creating the course syllabus for his Economics in Modern America class, but he simply couldn’t force himself to focus. Those texts his wife had sent him were causing more than just a little worry.

  Closing his eyes, he felt his stomach clench as he imagined her achingly beautiful face. A full decade older than his wife, he knew enough about women to know his wife was reaching her breaking point. She was hurting. Multiple miscarriages and a recent failed attempt at adoption had left them both childless and battle weary in the fight to add to their small family. While Abby had thrown herself into writing, he’d hurled himself into work, too, and somehow, the distance between them over the intervening months had grown.

  Now, there was a great, gaping chasm yawning between them. She’d tried reaching out to him — more than once. And while he hadn’t exactly rejected her, he hadn’t embraced her, either. And now, hell, he knew he was the one responsible for hurting her. And since he’d literally give his life for hers if it ever was necessary, knowing that he was the very thing causing her so much pain was a torture unlike any he’d ever known.

  But, the truth was, he was keeping a secret from her. It wasn’t a bad secret, but it was a big one. Hell, it was enormous. Life-changing, even. But, if everything worked out as Whitlock prayed it would, it wouldn’t hurt her. On the contrary, he hoped that once the secret was out, she’d be ecstatically happy.

  The problem was, he couldn’t quite tell her everything yet. Since he’d never been good at hiding things from the woman he’d fallen in love with at first sight nearly eleven years ago, he’d been forced to distance himself from her the past several months. This, of course, had been a massive red flag to his wife since they’d been nearly inseparable during the length of their marriage. Even during their darkest moments, they’d held onto each other. Well, up until the last attempt at having a kid.

  But his secret – which was really more a surprise than secret - was all for a greater good, he told himself a tad desperately as he looked down at the calendar on his desk. Tapping his knuckles against the page, he was reminded that in a few more days, Abigail would understand why he’d been so absentminded and distant lately. She’d know that his recent tense behavior had nothing to do with her - or even them as a couple - but it had everything to do with what they wanted for their future. Soon, his master plan would all come together.

  He just hoped his Abigail could hold on for that long. Based on the abrupt texts he’d exchanged with her earlier, though, his time might just be well and truly up with the gorgeous woman he’d married. He just prayed that she’d be willing to hear him out before making any drastic decisions about their life together. God, if she’d just give him a few more days, she’d understand everything! He knew his woman was already furious with him for not going to marriage counseling with her. He’d missed appointment after appointment, making up excuses that he’d never have believed if he’d been her. Hell, if he’d just remembered their wedding anniversary, maybe all the drama could have been avoided.

  Unfortunately though, the reason he’d forgotten had been directly related to the secret he’d been keeping from her and telling her why he’d really missed such an important milestone had been impossible. She’d exploded just as he’d predicted she would and had insisted on seeing a marriage counselor. He’d been avoiding the appointments ever since. Today, he’d missed the third one, and he suspected there’d be hell to pay for it. God, he was in a mess, he thought as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and moved to stare out the window at the Berkeley campus.

  What in the hell should he have done? If he couldn’t be completely honest with Abby yet about what he’d been doing behind her back, there was no way a therapist could help them. It was a requirement in counseling to be completely truthful, and he just couldn’t offer complete honesty yet. Not to Abby and not to any therapist they saw. It wasn’t because he was doing anything to hurt his marriage, but even he couldn’t deny that he was taking a huge risk to save it and give Abigail everything she ever wanted.

  Now, he needed to go home and face the music with his wife and pray he could buy just a little more time with her until he could divulge everything. At 6’2” and 220 pounds of mostly muscle, there wasn’t much he was afraid of facing. But imagining the wrath and pain of his beloved spouse waiting for him at home… yeah, he was man enough to admit that he was fucking terrified of that.

  Turning to look at his mostly clear desk again, Whit frowned. Abby’s text had been clear. She’d summoned him home to talk, and since he’d already disappointed her once today by missing their appointment with the shrink, the last thing he should do was test her pati
ence by being late now. He’d already rescheduled his meeting and there really wasn’t a pressing reason to stay in his office. Decision made, he quickly shrugged on his suit jacket, buttoning it quickly before he scooped up his keys and phone. If traffic was on his side, he’d be home in less than an hour. And hopefully, he could begin undoing some of the damage he’d done to the woman he loved more than his life. Maybe she’d even let him make love to her.

  God knew, it had been a while since they’d gotten lost in each other.

  Locking up his office, he made the short walk to his car in record time as he tried to remember the last time he’d seen his sexy wife naked. Reaching his car, he shook his head, silently realizing that he couldn’t remember. And if he couldn’t remember, it had definitely been too damned long, he thought as he clicked his key fob, unlocking the sleek black Mercedes he drove and climbed behind the wheel.

  His dick throbbed behind his fly as he mindlessly started his vehicle, the soft hum of the engine unable to interrupt a mind suddenly consumed by memories of Abigail’s luscious body. His woman had always been an undeniable beauty. She’d been blessed with bright blue eyes, long, thick hair that fell to her shoulders and virtually glowed in the sunlight, and the sweetest pair of pink bee-stung lips he’d ever seen or tasted. With a tiny waist and heavy, lush breasts topped by the creamiest pink nipples, and thick legs that felt like heaven when she wrapped them around his waist, his Abigail possessed lush curves that could make a monk’s mouth water. She always had. He’d often teased her that he wanted an artist to paint a nude of her, but he couldn’t bear the thought of another man anywhere near his naked mate. Because while Abby hadn’t been his first lover, he’d known the moment he tasted her lips for the first time that she would be his last. She’d be his everything. Until he took his last breath.

  And thanks to a kind and merciful God, she’d seen him the same way. He’d been Abigail’s first and only lover, and he was grateful every day of his life that she’d come to him untouched. Oh, he’d have wanted her however she came, but knowing he’d been the only man to ever slide his dick into her perfect body… that he’d been the only man to show her the blinding ecstasy that two bodies could create together…well, it was a singularly satisfying piece of knowledge to possess. The caveman inside him still wanted to beat his chest and roar to the heavens when he thought about it.

  He and Abby had been compatible from the very start of their relationship despite the ten-year gap in their ages. She’d been a student when he’d quite literally run into her in the quad at Berkeley over a decade ago. He’d been a then-new professor in their business department rushing to teach a class across the campus, and she’d been a junior studying for a creative writing class on the grassy slope of the quad when he’d tripped over outstretched legs. He’d fallen in a heap at her feet, and one look in her sparkling eyes had only sealed his fate. An odd pair to be certain, he and Abby quickly became inseparable.

  As if kismet had decreed it so, they’d just worked great together. After a few almost unbearable months of trying to keep things strictly platonic between them, Whit impulsively gave up his attempt at being simply her “good friend Whit” and instead became her first lover. It was the most reckless thing he’d ever done, falling into bed with Abigail, but she’d stolen a part of his soul that night, irrevocably linking them together for eternity.

  She’d been so young and still a student at the university where he taught (even if she wasn’t in any of his classes), but none of that had deterred him once his lips touched hers. From that moment on, she’d been completely his, and a few scant months later, they were married in a small ceremony by the ocean with only their closest family and friends attending. It had been both private and poignant – exactly as they’d both wanted.

  Life had been good for several years. Abigail graduated with honors and began writing at home while he continued teaching at Berkeley. He’d worked long hours then, too, but the difference was when he’d come home at night, she’d been waiting for him, ready to work on building their family together. They’d spend endless hours exploring each other, alternately making long sweet love together only to recover and spend another few hours fucking each other like animals. To this day, he couldn’t say which activity he’d loved more: the lovemaking or the fucking. Honestly, he’d have to say it had been a toss-up.

  Four years into their marriage, Abigail had finally met him at the doorway to the apartment they’d lived in, her youthful face beaming as she posed dramatically, wearing a still too-large maternity dress. She’d been six weeks pregnant and breathtakingly stunning as she told him the thrilling news — they were finally going to be parents. For the next three months, they dreamed and planned. They finally took the plunge and bought a house. A month after that, they began decorating the nursery. It was a cruel twist of fate that Abby began bleeding as he’d been twisting the last screw in the crib he’d been putting together. As long as he lived, he’d never forget hearing her terrified screams as she’d been wracked by crippling cramps while he’d called an ambulance for her. Powerless, he’d held her hand as she’d sobbed in that tiny emergency room cubicle when the obstetrician informed them that she’d lost their baby. For months, he’d held his fragile wife as she cried for the loss of their unborn child night after night.

  Slowly, however, despite the unending ache of their loss, they held on to each other and healed together.

  Eventually, life went on.

  Twice more over the next five years, they repeated the same ordeal — the miraculous joy of learning Abigail was pregnant followed months later by the almost unbearable loss of an unborn life. Unbelievable highs and gut-wrenching lows. It was soul-crushing to watch his beautiful woman go through that agonizing loss again and again.

  And after Abby’s third miscarriage, when she’d said that she could handle no more, a part of him had been relieved that he wouldn’t have to see her in that kind of pain again. He’d never suspected an even more overwhelming loss was looming on the horizon.

  A month later, Abby suggested they begin the long process of adopting a child, and he’d rejoiced. He knew adopting an infant would probably take more time, but the idea of taking a child someone else wasn’t able to raise on their own called to him on a deeply personal level since he’d been adopted as a baby. He and Abby had jumped through every bureaucratic hoop under the sun, enduring background checks and countless home visits that were needed to deem them worthy candidates to adopt a child. Over the next few days, they tirelessly dotted every ‘i’ and crossed every ‘t’ as they tried to wait patiently. Finally, a birth mother who was thirty-six weeks pregnant chose them as her child’s prospective birth parents. For four weeks, Abby and Whitlock had looked forward to the birth of their son with unconcealed excitement. They bought tiny little outfits and loads of diapers. They re-decorated the nursery, painting it blue and white. They even named him.

  Theodore James Lehigh.

  They decided they’d call him Theo.

  Fate, however, was a cruel bitch. Their baby was stillborn – born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his tiny neck. He’d never even gotten to take his first breath.

  To say they’d been devastated by the loss was an understatement. After burying the son that they’d never got to know, they’d both been numb. So very numb. It’s said that the psyche can only take so much trauma before it shuts down out of self-preservation, and honestly, Whit thought that’s what they’d done. Both he and his wife had gone into survival mode.

  They ate. They worked. They ate again. They slept. Rinse and repeat.

  They barely talked. They never had sex. And the affection that had come so easily during the majority of their marriage became almost non-existent.

  Survival mode was a bitch, and it had gone on for months.

  Until a single phone call that changed everything.

  Blinking quickly as a car blew its hor
n behind him, Whit realized he’d driven most of the distance home on automatic pilot. Quickly accelerating through the now-green light he’d been stopped at, he waved an apologetic hand in the air at the driver behind him.

  Christ, he needed to get his mind in the game. In a couple of minutes, he’d be home.

  He just hoped his beautiful Abigail was in a forgiving mood.

  Chapter Three

  Nervously tugging at the hem of her skintight dress, Abby frowned. “Are you sure this isn’t too much, Luce? I feel like I’m falling out of this dress,” she worried as she moved one hand to try and pull up the bodice of her dress.

  “You are falling out of that dress, babe! In all the very best ways!” her sister replied easily, smacking Abby’s hands away from her boobs as she took over the job of adjusting the bodice with an impersonal touch. “I am totally borrowing this bad boy at a future date. It’s positively sinful,” she enthused as she took a step back and eyed her sister critically.

  Tugging at the hem again, Abigail tried to shimmy the dress farther down her legs. “I remember it being longer.”

  “It wasn’t,” Lucy denied with a negative shake of her head. “You just used to not worry so much about how short your dresses were. For real, hon, you are smokin’ hot. Quit fidgeting. Locke the Cock, as you’ve been calling him for the last half hour, is gonna go crazy for you, sis.”

  “Yeah, just so he doesn’t think I’m crazy,” Abby mumbled under her breath as she gave the skirt of her dress one last futile tug before walking into the formal dining room.

  “The fact that you’re nuts isn’t exactly a newsflash, Abs,” Lucy returned sarcastically. “You’re an author, for Christ’s sake. Insanity is practically a job requirement when you’re listening intently to the voices in your head.”