Page 82 of Calamity Rayne Gets Hitched

I openly sulked. I didn’t want to try on any more dresses. I wanted to eat my feelings and put on some elastic-waisted pants, preferably made of fleece.

As she passed over several gowns, flicking through the selection. I refilled my champagne. It was past lunchtime and I was getting cranky.

“Wait! What’s that one you just passed?”

Phina backtracked as she swiped through the rack of designer gowns. “This? You don’t want this one. It’s too plain.”

I set my glass on the veneer table. I’d consumed enough champagne to no longer care that I was walking around like Princess Dominatrix Ivory Underpants in what was essentially a public setting. “Let me see it.”

She sighed and lifted it off the rack. “It’s very low cut, Rayne.”

But it was simple. Spaghetti straps. All white silk. No beads. A delicate crisscross open back. “Can I try it on?”

“We’ll have to tape your boobs.”

“I’m sorry, do what now?”

“Tape your boobs. Lilly, get me a box of rose petals.”

Before I could ask another question, I was turned and sucking in a much needed breath of fresh air as the hooks of the trap-corset came undone. Lilly handed Phina a pink box.

“Okay, face me.”

The cool air against my skin filled me with awkward embarrassment as my nipples were exposed. Phina pulled away the corset.

“Whoa.” I covered my jubblies.

“Rayne, I need to see your breasts to fix them.”

Fix them? “What’s wrong with them?”

“You’re thirty.”

Offended, I scowled at her. “My boobs are perfectly fine.”

“Of course they are, but a dress like that shows everything. And you’re not what I’d called buxom, so you have to work for a nice décolletage.

I pouted. “Your brother loves my boobies.” They weren’t anything to write home about, but I was working with a nice C-minus in the cup department.

“I definitely don’t need to know my brother’s thoughts about your breasts. But I can guarantee, he’s going to love them more when I’m finished perking them up.” She batted away my hands and tore open the pink box.

“What is that?”

“Tape. Stay still.”

I frowned as she slapped one sticky, flower-shaped pad over my nipple. She cupped my boob, lifted it, and readjusted the adhesive.

“Ah, careful!”

“The trick is making them match.” She pulled out the other flower and repeated the process.

“You should really serve something stronger than champagne to your customers if you’re going to molest them on the first date. At least offer dinner and a movie or have some sort of a fluffer on hand.”

“Don’t talk. I’m trying to get them even. Try not to breathe.”

“Are my boobs uneven?”

“Shh.” She adjusted the tape and I whimpered.

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