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“Anastasia…Stasi.”
Her name feels like forbidden fruit in my mouth. Delicious.
Keep it in your pants. And keep those thoughts locked away in your head, where they can’t hurt anybody.
No one gets hurt if I squirrel this fantasy away into my spank bank for later.
What is taking her so long? I glance over at the bathroom door. What is she doing in there?
Flora has repeatedly explained to me that “a woman takes as long as she takes in the bathroom,” and I still don’t know what that means. Maybe she’s wrestling those mighty large tits into a bra, and…oh, no.
The last thing Stasi said before she recognized me was to ask if I was holding her bra.
And I had been, indeed. Why was I holding her bra? Now I remember. I was considering breast size to hand ratio when I happened to look up and see her paddling in the rowboat.
Then everything went sideways, and now, that bra is likely sitting on the bottom of the lake.
I’ll have to compensate her for that, as well.
As I wait for Stasi to exit the bathroom, my conscience gets the better of me.
I’m out the door and crossing the lawn to the water’s edge, considering what to do. Dredge the lake? Dive for it?
Movement in the tall reeds gets my attention. I step closer, and there it is: Stasi’s lacy underwire push-up bra has washed ashore.
I’ll have to remember to make a thank offering to the old gods because this is truly divine intervention.
5
Stasi
“You found it!”
My bra hangs in front of a warm, crackling fireplace as I stand in the bathroom doorway, letting out steam and dabbing the ends of my hair.
I’m dressed in my clean pajama bottoms and a fresh Hello Kitty crop top, not having brought anything with more coverage because I hadn’t anticipated company. I’m certainly not going to don the sweaty clothes I wore while traveling today.
Where did I put my stinky traveling clothes, anyway? I should probably give those a soak in the sink along with my swimsuit.
“I thought my bra was lost at sea,” I laugh, padding barefoot over to the fire.
My joke is pointless, though, as Sigurd is nowhere to be found.
“Your Highness?”
No answer as I sweep my gaze around the place.
I go to the door facing the private drive and see only Bluebell, still wedged against the cabin, with no other vehicle in sight.
Right, then. He’s gone.
Well, shit.
I must remind myself that I am here to be alone in peace and quiet. And yet, my heart sinks a little.
I stand there looking at my damp bra hanging on an iron rack contraption in front of the fire like something from one of those American pioneer shows.
Well, that’s one way to do laundry, I suppose. My original plan was to wash my underwear in the sink and let them air dry. The worst case scenario would be heading into town to find a laundromat, but again, not having anticipated company, I gave no thought to whether or not my clothes would start to smell.
