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“I know.”
“Then you will have the decency to enjoy it.”
“Enjoy? That’s a tall order. Even for you.” I’m not talking about the wine. I’m sure 1955 Jolin is excellent. There are only a few bottles of that wine floating around, and if it were any other day, I’d consider it a celebratory drink for a special occasion. Severio might be celebrating, but I’m certainly not.
Severio shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t offer it.”
Behind me, Gordon removes my coat, leaving me in my lavish wedding gown. Severio soaks it up with his eyes.
“Your dress is beautiful,” he says, his blue eyes seemingly sincere.
“It’s a Mancini.”
“Ah. I’ll be sure to tell my sister.” Severio’s watching me intently. I think he’s expecting me to undress. At least I have the small freedom to do this at my own pace.
Sandwiched between two men, one sitting on the barstool behind me, the other standing in front of me, I turn toward the man who’ll claim me.
The warmth in his brown eyes comforts me. A small smile plays over his lips. It also comforts me.
“Am I a part of your initiation ritual?” I ask, remembering Severio said Gordon is a recruit. “Is that how you’re going to be brought into the Order?”
A frown wipes the smile off his face, and his eyes dart to Severio behind me.
“Let’s get started,” Severio says.
He expects me to undress. But I’m a curvaceous woman and by no means comfortable standing naked in front of two men who both clearly take care of their bodies, which is something I don’t do. I’m not terribly self-conscious and hating on my body, but I’m also aware my curves are plentiful, especially around my bottom and my thighs.
My breasts are also quite large.
Thankfully, it’s night, and the lighting in the villa is dim. If the room was lit up, I don’t think I’d have reached behind me and grabbed the zipper of my dress. I also don’t think I’d have pulled it down as I’m doing now.
Gordon’s eyes widen, unblinking, and dart from me to Severio.
Since he’s making me feel worse, I look at the ceiling. The top of the dress loosens and falls halfway down my body, stopping at my wide hips. Nothing slides off those unless I tug it.
And so I do.
I’m left in a white corset and white, knee-high shapewear that gathers up my bottom half into a firmer frame. The fact that these two men are witnessing how I tucked myself in so I can feel good and look pretty for the wedding makes me want to take out one of the hairpins holding up my hair and jab their eyes.
“It’s like a one-night stand,” I say at the ceiling. “Plenty of women have those and come out just fine or, heck, feeling even better having done it.”
I reach for said pin, fantasizing about jabbing it into Severio’s eyeball, when his fingers close over my wrist and pull it away from my hair. He tugs, and I turn toward him.
His fingers around my wrist squeeze tightly, provoking a gasp from me.
“Her hair,” he says, and sits down while I stand between his legs, way too close to him, “should stay up. Don’t you think, Gordon?”
“Mmhm,” comes from behind me.
Severio leans in and taps the barstool behind me. My breasts push against his shoulder, and I feel hot all over when I shouldn’t. He wants to claim me the way a king would claim his enemy’s daughter on the ground of the village he conquered.
“Have a seat,” Severio says.
“A seat? Here?” I ask, feeling heat crawling up my cheeks. “Are you going to watch?”
Severio’s lips are at my ear. “I am. I’m going to enjoy it.”
4
