Page 78 of Resisting Mr Black

“What’s going on?”

I take a deep breath and look up at him. “We’re going out for Lucy’s hen-do tonight and I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get… twitchy.”

His eyebrows arch. “Twitchy?”

“Yes, because we’ll be drinking a lot and I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

He pushes his hands into his pockets and frowns as if he doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to admit that I’m right. “What was she talking about you looking hot for? You always look hot, what’s so different about tonight?”

Me going out isn’t the main issue. What I’m going to be wearing is.

“It’s fancy dress.”

“What’s the theme?”

I know he’s going to freak out, but I haven’t got a choice, so he’ll just have to deal with it. “It wasn’t my idea, it’s Lucy’s. She is the bride after all. It’s her hen-do.”

“Sophie.”

“Burlesque.”

“No way.”

I put my hands on my hips. Now he’s being unreasonable. “You haven’t even seen the costume.”

“I know what burlesque is.”

“Err, excuse me, Art?” George hovers in the doorway. “There’s a call for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” he barks, then pins me with a glare. “This conversation isn’t over.”

As soon as the bride and groom leave the hotel and go on their merry way to their honeymoon in the Seychelles, I race home. I haven’t seen Art since this afternoon and I’m not hanging around because I know what argument we’re going to have, and I haven’t got the time or energy for it. Theo used to tell me what to wear and I’m not going through that again. Anyway, no one tells me what to wear. Full stop.

I hurry through a shower, dry and curl my hair into soft waves, pinning the top section up onto my head, and apply subtle make-up. I don’t need anything too daring with the outfit I’ll be wearing.

I slip on the strapless silky red costume and peer at myself in the bedroom mirror. It has a black lace overlay and very short black tulle skirt with a ruffle at the back. It looks like a corset but is actually a very short dress, which skims low across my cleavage and accentuates my waist. The black silk above the knee stockings and black stilettos finish off the look. It’s far more daring than anything I’ve ever worn before, but Lucy has never done subtle. I’m seriously considering cracking open a bottle of wine before I step outside in public looking like an extra from the set ofMoulin Rouge. Thank God Art can’t see me.

I hear a thud at the front door and peer at my watch. It’s only seven thirty. The taxi can’t be early. Lucy’s never been early for anything in her life.

I open the door to be greeted by a fuming Art, nearly bowling me over as he barges past me into the flat.

Great. Now for argument Round Two.

“Oh, do come in,” I mutter sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

He stands in the hallway, arms folded as his dark eyes sweep up and down my body, taking in my outfit. His jaw twitches with tension. “There’s no way you’re going out dressed like that.”

There’s no way he’s telling me what I can and can’t wear.

If he thinks he’s going to storm in and start telling me what to do, he’s wrong.

I fold my arms, mirroring him. “I told you. It’s fancy dress. Lucy chose the costume. I can’t not dress up, I’m her Maid of Honour. It is her hen-do, it’s not like I’m popping down the shops dressed like this.”

He cocks an eyebrow signalling his disapproval at my vague attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m serious, Sophie. You’re not going out wearing that. You look like a fucking stripper.”

Anger flares in my gut. That does it. “You cannot tell me what to wear.”

“I can when you’ve got more flesh on show than you have covered up,” he snaps.

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