Page 54 of Never Let You Go

She eyes my breasts with the gaze of a professional. “Take your bra off. You can keep the panties on.”

I guess, at this point, I might as well do as I’m told. I feel like I’m at the doctor’s, except I’m a little tipsy and the decor is super sexy. Plush carpeting, soft lighting, and mirrors all around the fitting room.

Cassandra grabs a measuring tape and places it right underneath my breasts and around my back. I raise my arms to lift my breasts farther from her fingers. But then, she swiftly moves the measuring tape up and smack across my nipples, the cold plastic making them harden.

I’m mortified.

She mumbles the measurements and writes them down in a thick, leather-bound notebook. Then, she moves to my waist and hips and does the same.

I’m out of the woods.

Or maybe not.

“Spread your legs for me,” she says, and, when I do, in two movements, she measures my height from the base of my neck to my pubic bone, front and back.

The humiliation is real, and my appreciation of her lessening by the second. “Are we done?” I snap.

“That’s a good start.” She hands me a robe. “Hang tight.”

She comes back with a copper-colored bustier that fits me to perfection. The demi bra shows a generous share of my breasts without being tacky. The sheer fabric is delicately embroidered with golden threads. A row of tiny buttons runs from between the breasts all the way to the bottom, but a hidden front zipper makes the garment easy to put on and take off. The bustier stops right below my belly button in a V shape. The back has a decorative set of ribbon ties.

As Cassandra zips up the bustier, she swiftly slides a hand in each bra cup to adjust my boobs up. “Shows those babies,” she says.

I’m shell shocked by the feeling of her touch on my sensitive nipples. But she clearly thinks nothing of it.

“Try the panties,” she says before leaving the room, handing me a matching thong I slip over my underwear.

When she’s gone, I try to breathe the burn off my cheeks. Once I feel comfortable again, I turn around on my toes, arch my back and admire myself in the mirrored fitting room. Who’s this sexy, confident bombshell with lush hair cascading down her generous breasts, a thin waist, long legs, and killer ass?

What would Christopher think?

“How much will this set me back?” I ask from behind the curtain, my initial displeasure with Cassandra totally forgotten.

“How’s a lifetime of true love and pleasure? If you’re ready for it.”

I chuckle.

“I’m serious. Don’t let just anyone see you in this. You’ll be stuck with them. Choose carefully.” She is serious, her tone tinged with a note of mystery. She writes my name in purple ink on the parchment-like tag affixed to the garments. No brand, just the silhouette of an owl. Then she wraps it all in silk paper.

“This is your talisman, Alexandra. My gift to you. Use it wisely.”

fourteen

Christopher

An hour before my appointment with Emma, I’m in the kitchen, playing a game of Slap Jack with Skye. Alexandra breezes through, clearly coming out of a much-needed nap, her cheeks rosy, her eyes bright, and a pillow mark on her forehead. No disaster from her in the bakehouse today. That’s a win.

She grabs a glass of water and plops herself on the couch in the TV area, then flips through her baking manual. Her feet are wrapped in thick socks, and she draws circles with her ankles as she twists a strand of hair in her fingers. Her head is tucked against the back of the couch. The front part of her is turned away from me, but I can fill it in from memory. From days of stealing glances at her.

She’s frowning.

Her lips move occasionally as she repeats definitions and proof times.

She closes her eyes periodically to help her focus.

Then she snaps them back open.

Her phone rings. “Hey, Grace!”

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