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“No?” Fitzy asks.
“Hell no, that’s…” I trail off, unsure how to diplomatically say she looks too much like her sister in that outfit.
“This is more my sister’s style than mine,” Izzy quietly offers, a sad smile tipping at the corners of her pouty lips.
Fitzy nods, tilts his head to the side, and assesses her. “Okay, go change. I have something that I think you’ll love.”
Izzy disappears again and Fitzy shuffles through the garment bags on the rails, pulling items from a few different bags and handing them off behind the screen.
Lifting my fork, I stab a bite of pancake from my plate and try really hard not to focus on the screen and the fact that I’m pretty sure she’s naked, or almost naked, behind there. Quicker than before, she reappears wearing a wide smile on her face as she looks down at her outfit. She’s wearing denim overalls that finish just above her ankle. They should look ridiculous, but they actually cling to her every curve. Beneath them is a simple white tank top paired with a black leather biker jacket that looks soft and comfortable.
“This, I love this,” Izzy says excitedly, running her hand over the arm of the jacket.
“Okay, I think I get it now. Take that off, and I’ll get the next outfit ready,” Fitzy orders decisively.
“But I love this,” she says, pouting adorably.
Fitzy’s smile is indulgent and soft in a way he very rarely displays. “Don’t worry, you can put it back on later if you want, but I need you to try some other things.”
She sighs, then nods. “Can I at least have my coffee first?”
He agrees and turns to the rail to start pulling items from the bags again.
“Here,” Kip says, jumping up from his seat, grabbing her drink from the coffee table, and handing it to her.
“Thank you,” she says, smiling at him.
A sudden bout of annoyance hits me, and I twist around to glare at one of my oldest and closest friends. I’m not jealous, but I’m definitely feeling something that I’m struggling to identify right now.
Lifting her cup to her lips, Izzy takes a sip, then a second, moaning lightly in pleasure as the rich coffee fills her mouth. “God, real creamer; we only have the stupid, no-fat stuff at home.”
“Come on, darling, we have more to try,” Fitzy calls, and she reluctantly puts her coffee down and dutifully disappears behind the screen again.
I try to focus on my plate of food, ignoring my friends as they make themselves plates and start to eat. They chat about nothing in particular, but my focus is entirely on the changing screen and the girl trying on clothes behind it. Normally the idea of shopping or being in any way involved in the purchasing of clothes would be worse than boring to me, but this fashion show with Izzy as the model is fucking riveting.
My mind is screaming that I should be encouraging her to take off her clothes, not put them on, but the smile on her face each time she appears in a new outfit that is so unlike anything her sister would wear is like a beacon drawing me in.
For the next thirty minutes, she tries skinny jeans that mold to her ass, accentuating how full and round it is. A sexy black dress that’s so short the full length of her legs are on display, somehow both tempting me to lick from her ankle all the way up and pissing me off that anyone else is seeing her looking like that. But outfit after outfit, her smile gets bigger and her presence gets lighter and happier as Fitzy grins and laughs with her.
When she appears in a formal outfit, a gold, fitted crop top and matching long skirt with a slit that goes so high on her thigh I get a glimpse of her black lace panties, I have to ball my hands into fists at my sides to stop myself from storming across the room and dragging her away from the hungry-eyed gazes of my asshole friends.
“Fuck,” I hear one of the guys hiss, and I spin around and glare at them all in turn before I try to understand why the fuck I’m getting territorial over a girl who isn’t actually mine, or at least not mine in anything other than this fake engagement I’ve forced her into.
Izzy’s giggle flows across the room, and my anger is forgotten as I turn back to the girl who is messing with my fucking equilibrium. I’ve heard her scoff, I’ve heard her laugh bitterly, but until just now I’ve never heard her giggle, and the sound is so fucking free and uninhibited that it makes something splinter inside of me.
She’s not looking at me, instead, she’s holding on to one of Fitzy’s hands while he twirls her on the spot, the flowy fabric of her skirt floating out around her as she spins, making her look like a fucking society princess. “I haven’t worn formalwear in years, and the last time I did, it was a crinoline nightmare, but this…I want to find a ball to go to just so I can wear this dress,” she exclaims happily.
Words rise unbidden in my throat—the sudden urge to offer to take her to a ball. Hell, I’ll fucking throw one in her honor if she wears that outfit and I get to touch her in it. But I swallow them down because I’m using her and she knows it, and as much as my dick is waving and telling me it’d feel really fucking good if we actually made this desire I’m feeling for her real between us, it’s not, and I need to keep reminding myself of that.
“We need to get going, we’re scheduled to sail in an hour,” I say to the room.
“Go, you don’t need to wait for me. I can just get Mark to come and get me,” Izzy says with a wave of her hand.
“Who the fuck is Mark?” Kip growls, and I turn angry eyes on him. What the hell does he think he’s doing getting fucking possessive over my fiancée?
“My driver,” Izzy tells him, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’ll take you home later. You’re coming out with us now,” I growl, shocking myself a little. With the way my dick is behaving around her, I really should just let her go, but honestly, I don’t fucking want to. I want her to come with us. I want to see her relax and have fun, and more than that, I don’t want her to leave.
