A long, champagne coloured dress—simple yet enchanting.
‘I think this is the one,’ she smiles back, opening it up so I can step into it.
She pulls the thin spaghetti straps up over my shoulders and within seconds unclips my bra and throws it to the floor.
‘This dress doesn’t call for a bra,’ she smiles.
The sweetheart neckline shows enough of my chest to look sexy, but she’s right, without the bra, it looks nothing but classy and elegant. It’s fitted at the waist and then falls in thin pleats to the floor, the sides and back longer than the rest, meaning when I move it trails behind me like a wedding dress. Wow.
‘This is definitely the one,’ she smiles proudly. ‘Now to show it to your fiancée.’
She opens the curtain and walks me out to Hugh sat on a chaise lounge reading something on his phone.
I clear my throat, and he looks up immediately. His eyes widen in wonder when he spots me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe.
‘You look...’ he blows out a breath, ‘absolutely stunning.’
Martha smiles proudly. ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a moment to discuss it.’
I beam back at her, to show I appreciate it.
‘So?’ I murmur self-consciously, doing a little spin. ‘Do you really like it?’
He stands up and stalks towards me, like a predator about to attack. Be still my thudding, thumping heart.
‘I don’t just like it,’ he purrs, standing in front of me. He takes a spaghetti strap between his finger and thumb. ‘I love it.’ He slips the strap down off my shoulder and moves onto the other side. ‘In fact, I love it so much.’ The next strap is pulled down painfully slowly. ‘That I want to see what it looks like on the floor.’
I stare up at him with what I imagine is wanton lust. He spins me around and slowly undoes the zip. He yanks it off my shoulders in the middle of the room, my breasts exposed to anyone that might walk in.
His hands find them from behind, pawing at them greedily. Oh my God, he is beyond hot. He pushes me to the entrance of the changing room but stops without closing the curtain. I look at myself standing half naked in the mirror, my chest puffing up and down with need.
He slips his hand around to the front of my knickers. His fingers dip inside while the other hand yanks them down so roughly I have to use my hands to steady myself on the changing room doorframe.
He plays with my folds. I’m embarrassingly wet, so much so that one finger glides inside me without any effort. I gasp, clenching around it. The combination of the sensation and watching it happen in the mirror is so overwhelming that I can barely stand. He uses his other arm to wrap around my waist to steady me.
He circles his finger inside me, curling it up in just the right spot.
I groan loudly. God, did that sound really just come out of my mouth?
‘Shhh,’ he hisses in my ear. ‘We don’t want Martha walking in.’
‘Then close the curtain,’ I hiss impatiently.
He pushes another finger in. ‘But where’s the fun in that?’ I see his grin in the mirror at the same time as his thumb starts rubbing my clit in soft circles.
Oh my god. Control slips away from me. I don’t care if Martha catches us. I’ll do anything for him not to stop right now.
My head falls back onto his broad chest. I instinctively push my bum back into him and feel the hardness against his trousers. God, I want him. No, if he keeps moving his fingers like he is now, I fucking need him.
‘I know we said we’d wait,’ he whispers in my ear.
‘Please,’ I hiss back, unable to form a coherent sentence. ‘Do it.’
Without missing a beat, he bends me over, and his belt buckle hits the floor with a clink. I peek a look at myself in the mirror, bent over, totally at his mercy. It’s so hot.
He thrusts into me so roughly I fly forward and almost hit the mirror with my head.
‘Shit,’ I gasp. He’s fucking huge!
I steady myself with my hands outstretched onto the mirror. He holds my hips in place forcing me to take all of him. Fuck, I think he just touched my womb.
He thrusts relentlessly into me, the feeling so full I want to scream each time. It’s so overwhelming a part of me wants to ask him to stop. But an even bigger part of me is begging me to take it, revel in it. Wait for the explosion of pleasure to hit me.
Tingling travels up my spine, my are toes curling so much I almost collapse as a feeling of total ecstasy takes over me, unleashing an exploding light, blinding me temporarily.
When I come back down to earth and open my eyes, I realise that his hand is over my mouth. A glance in the mirror tells me I must have been screaming. He locks eyes with me as his thrusts speed up until he tenses—squeezing my hip so hard I’m sure it’ll bruise.
He collapses down onto the floor, taking me down with him.
‘Fuck,’ he groans, pulling me into his chest. ‘That was amazing.’
I open my mouth to talk when I hear footsteps.
‘Oops!’
I look up to see Martha standing over us, her little face contorted in shock.
I quickly try to cover myself up.
‘What did I tell you?’ she grins proudly. ‘That dress is definitely the one.’
Chapter Eight
Thursday 8th December
‘No way!’ Nadine shrieks. ‘You did not get caught having sex! Florence Gray! Do I even know you anymore?!’
‘Ssssh!’ I hiss, as we walk into the bridal store. ‘I’m embarrassed enough!’
‘And you should be,’ she giggles, attempting to cover her mouth to try and stop them becoming cackles. ‘You bloody harlot!’
‘Who’s a harlot?’ Joan asks, looking between us with alarmed eyes.
‘No-one!’ I shout far too quickly. ‘Anyway, let’s get down to trying on dresses.’
‘I’m so excited!’ Mum coos, stroking me on the arm. ‘I can’t believe my baby girl is getting married. It seems like only yesterday you were in nappies.’
I smile, but lean back and whisper into Nadine’s ear, ‘Don’t let her talk at the wedding.’
‘Already on it,’ she whispers back.
Nadine takes control and lets the shop owners know we’re here. We’re led into a separate little room and poured champagne. How swanky.
‘So,’ the gay Italian asks me. ‘What kind of dresses are you looking for?’
‘The cheapest,’ I admit quickly.
Four horrified faces look back at me.
‘What?’ I argue defensively. ‘Sorry, but I have a tight budget. And I need an even quicker turnaround. I’m getting married on Christmas day.’
‘THIS Christmas day?’ he repeats, hand on his chest as if I’m insane.
‘Err...yeah. Why?’
His olive skin turns flushed. He fans himself with his hand.
‘We normally advise brides to order their dresses six months ahead. Oh, my, my, my, my, my.’
God, he’s a diva.
‘You must have something I can wear in time.’
‘Darling,’ he says, clicking his fingers, his face contorted in horror, ‘this is your wedding dress. It’s not just something you drag out of a wardrobe. This is zee dress. It has to be zee dress of the century!’
‘Besides, sweetheart,’ Mum says with a sweet smile, ‘this dress is going to be my treat.’
Great. Mum getting herself into debt. That’s another thing to worry about.
‘Mum,’ I warn. ‘I don’t want you getting into debt just because of a stupid dress.’
The Italian’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. ‘Stupid dress? Have you not heard a thing I’ve been saying?’
‘I’m sorry, but he’s right,’ Nadine says sternly. ‘I will not allow you to get some shitty dress just because it’s cheap.’
‘Finally!’ he cries dramatically, flapping his arms up in the air. ‘People talking sense.’
‘Besides, sweetheart,’ Mum reasons, ‘I’ve been saving. This
won’t be going onto a credit card.’
No matter how annoying I find Joan at least she’s finally offered my Mum financial stability.
I sigh. ‘Okay, bring me the dresses.’
By the time he arrives back into the room nearly thirty minutes have passed. He may have left us with an extra two bottles of champagne, and we may be a little squiffy. Okay, a little shit-faced.
‘Because of zee time problem we’re going to have to choose a dress we already have in stock. Now, I don’t want to scare you, but that means we have only two dresses.’
Mum and Nadine take a deep inhale of horrified breath. I roll my eyes. What bloody drama queens.
‘That’s fine,’ I smile. ‘I’m sure one of them will be nice.’
‘Nice,’ Nadine snorts sarcastically. ‘Yeah, that’s exactly what you want your wedding dress to be. Nice.’
‘Let’s see them,’ I demand, choosing to ignore her.
He unzips the first bag and pulls out the most enormous ivory princess dress. I screw my face up. There are so many diamantes on that thing it’s basically a very large disco ball. Who on earth would want to wear that?
‘You like?’ he asks, eagerly nodding his head like the Churchill dog.
‘No,’ I comment blankly. I can’t help but hide the distaste on my face.
‘Okay. We still have one.’ He fetches the other bag and unzips it.
It’s even worse than the previous. The shape isn’t so bad, more of a classic type, but it’s a weird kind of cream colour, almost like a yellow and it’s got big navy parts all over the chest.
‘You like?’
Am I being dramatic? I look to Mum, Joan and Nadine. They look gutted for me. Actually gutted. And the worst thing is that I feel crestfallen. I feel heartbroken. It seems I was holding out on this dress being beautiful a lot more than I realised. But these? I wouldn’t be seen dead in them.
‘Maybe try one on?’ he suggests. ‘Sometimes they look better on.’
I nod, unable to talk, a fresh bout of emotions tightening around my neck.
Nadine helps me get stripped down to my underwear, and then I step into the disco ball dress. Fabio, or whatever his bloody name is, helps pull it up and starts tying the corset back.
It weighs a bloody tonne, and when I look back at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but feel disappointed. This isn’t me. This is more gypsy bride than anything.
‘Well?’ he asks hopefully, puffing out the edges, so they fall perfectly on the floor.
‘I...’ I literally cannot speak. Can’t put into words the squashed feeling in my chest.
‘She hates it,’ Nadine says bluntly.
‘Maybe move around in it, darling?’ Mum offers with a grimace. ‘You might get used to it.’
I step down from the small pedestal and attempt to walk towards the mirrors, but it’s hard with the dress being so heavy. It’s already hurting my back. I accidentally step on the skirt fabric and before I know it I’m falling, an almighty rip coursing through the air. I scrape my knee against the carpet. Fuck, that stings.
I lift myself up and look down at my legs. Arrgh, I have carpet burns so bad one of them is bleeding. Fuck my life.
‘You ripped the dress!’ Fabio shouts in horror.
Joan lifts up the dress to check my legs. ‘She’s bleeding!’ she shouts dramatically. ‘Somebody get a first aid kit!’
‘Don’t bleed on the dress! Don’t bleed on the dress!’ Fabio screams hysterically.
‘Get me out of this!’ I shout, suddenly feeling suffocated. ‘It’s so tight I can barely breathe.’
‘Get her out of the dress!’ Nadine roars.
‘You’ve ripped the dress!’ Fabio complains. ‘You have to pay for this.’
‘We’re not paying for a ripped dress,’ Mum squawks with hand on her hip.
‘A dress you ripped!!’ he roars, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.
‘Help me,’ I whimper, tears falling down my cheeks. The dress is so tight it’s hurting to take breaths now, and it’s like someone’s turned the heat up to 100.
‘Fuck it,’ Nadine sighs behind me, grabbing her bag. She pulls out tiny nail scissors and starts hacking away at the corset strings. ‘You’re gonna be made to pay for it now anyway.’
Slowly my breath comes back to me. It lets me draw in enough breath to collapse into a pitiful crying mess.
If this is the start of things to come, do I really want to do this?
Friday 9th December
I can’t believe we’ve had to shell out five hundred and fifty quid for a dress I don’t even like. What a bloody nightmare. Bloody being the word. My knee bled like an old lady on Warfarin.
This decreases our budget even more. I haven’t had the guts to tell Hugh. He’d probably realise what a disaster I am and dump me immediately.
Tonight’s the engagement party, completely organised by his Mum. His Mum who’s going to ask me if I’ve signed the prenuptial agreement. Part of me thinks I should just sign it. If it gets her to pay for the wedding and take the burden off us, it almost seems worth it. Plus, if she likes me a bit more it won’t hurt. Would probably make my life easier for the next lifetime. God, I finally find a man who wants to marry me and he has a psychotic mother. Typical.
I stand in front of the floor-length mirror in Hugh’s apartment and study my reflection. The dress really is stunning, and I’m confident that I’ve scrubbed up well. My makeup is done to perfection, a mix of smoky and gold eye shadow accentuating my brown eyes. I’ve gone for a subtle pale brown lip stain, so it doesn’t all look too much. My hair has been tonged and combed through so it looks effortlessly wavy. I’ve clipped it to one side in an attempt to show off my slim shoulders.
‘You look stunning,’ Hugh says from the doorway, gazing at me adoringly.
Bloody hell, he doesn’t look so bad himself in his dinner suit and dickey bow. Who knew a dickey bow could be so bloody sexy?
‘You look good yourself,’ I appreciate with a wry smile.
My cheeks heat with the memory of him deep inside me. I clench my legs together to stop myself getting carried away and look down towards my trusty black high heels. I slide my feet in, trying to think of cooling things.
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ he grins, suddenly behind me. He places his hands on my bottom and gives my cheeks a little squeeze.
‘Cheeky,’ I say with a giggle over my bare shoulder.
‘Do you think we could be a bit late?’ he whispers into my ear, nipping my lobe.
My God, he’s so bloody sexy. Just the idea of having him inside me again causes my stomach to curl up and purr.
‘What, and get your Mother to hate me even more?’
He groans. ‘You do have a point.’ He stands up straight as if having to shake himself out of it. ‘Come on then, Cinderella, before the magic wears off.’
That’s what I’m worried about.
We arrive just after 8.30pm and are ushered into the main room of the Wyonging hotel. Now this is more like it. Marble floors, high arched ceilings and the clinking of champagne glasses in the distance.
As soon as we’re through the door, people are slapping Hugh on the back, congratulating him. He politely thanks them with a back slap or two back, but I can tell there’s no genuine fondness so far. His eyes haven’t creased like they do when he laughs with me.
People are cooing at me as if I’m some trophy wife to be admired. No one actually talks directly to me or asks me any questions. It’s all directed to Hugh, but he still keeps his arm linked with mine.
‘Darling!’
We both turn to see his Mother walking towards us with her arms outstretched as if she hasn’t seen either of us for years. She throws herself at him in an over-the-top embrace, breaking our link. He looks apologetically over his shoulder at me.
‘Mother,’ he says curtly in greeting. ‘And you, of course, remember Florence.’
She begrudgingly looks over at me. ‘Of course.�
�
She leans in to kiss me on the cheek, her scent invading my nostrils. So, this is what pure evil smells like.
‘Have you signed the prenup yet?’ she whispers discreetly into my ear.
I look over to Hugh. He narrows his eyebrows quizzically, obviously not having heard.
‘Not yet,’ I answer honestly with a grimace. ‘But I hardly think it’s something to discuss right now.’ At my bloody engagement party, you horrible bitch.
‘You’re right,’ she says with a fake smile. ‘You should be mingling.’
I look around. There’s not a single person I recognise.
‘I will as soon as I find someone I know.’
Hugh’s caught in conversation with a man in his fifties now. He looks bored to tears.
‘Let me take you to your people then,’ she says with a snide smile.
I allow her to guide me away, smiling at Hugh. She steers me through the room, all the way out into the garden grounds. Shit, is she planning on killing me?
It’s then I hear Kelly’s laugh through the frostbitten night air.
‘There they are,’ she says, pointing towards a bench with my girls, Mum and Joan sat at it laughing their heads off.
Now, this looks like a party.
‘Thanks,’ I say through gritted teeth.
She’s probably just glad to get me out of the way. Have her little Hugh all to herself.
‘Look who it is!’ Mia says when she spots me. ‘The bride to be!’
They all laugh and whoop. Shit, how much booze have they already had? I spot four empty bottles of champagne on the table. When I get closer, I see that they’re playing Cards Against Humanity. This could only end in disaster!
‘Mum! You’re not honestly playing this game, are you?’ I ask with concern. For a lesbian, she sure gets offended easily, and this is not the game for people like that.
‘I am, sweetheart,’ she says with a hiccup. ‘It’s actually quite entertaining.’
‘I think it’s awful!’ Joan says with distaste.
We all burst out laughing.
‘Come on,’ Kelly laughs, grabbing my hands. ‘Let’s get shit-faced.’
‘I think you’re already there,’ Mia retorts with a snort.
Adventurous Proposal (Standalone) (One Month Til I Do Book 1) Page 6