Page 52 of Now Their Starlet

“Want me to loosen it for you? Just so you can relax for a bit?”

Her expression instantly transforms into such a look of raw desire I feel my chest shatter right along the cracks that formed when I saw her smile.

“Please?” The single syllable is breathy and desperate.

“Of course. Anything for you, Sweet Tea.”

She turns on her heels, pulling her long dark hair over her shoulder and baring her back to me.

“Corsets are supposed to be supportive,” I mutter under my breath as I start to loosen the ties, working my finger between the laces and tugging until there’s a bit of give and breathing room for her. “This shit’s just a torture device with they way they laced it.”

“Yeah,” she says, her voice shaky and trembling in a way that has me freezing. “Don’t—don’t stop. Please. Sorry, I’m just—you’re right. This dress sucks.”

I focus my energy on continuing to loosen the laces all the way up. Not enough for it to come undone, but enough for her to breathe comfortably.

“S—so, Sweet Tea,” she says through a small sniffle. Her hand lifts to wipe away at her cheeks. “‘That a nickname or something?”

“Yeah, all the other guys have one,” I shrug, continuing to work on the back of her corset. “And I thought it fit. Your perfume’s chamomile tea and it’s sweet when you’re happy.”

“Hasn’t been sweet in a while,” she murmurs softly.

“All done,” I murmur. My hands settle on her shoulders, and I turn her to face me. “We’re gonna fix that, okay? I promise. We’re going to figure this out. I know you’ve probably felt so alone, but you’re not.”

“Okay,” she nods, her movements jerky.

“Do you think you can sit comfortably now that the corset’s a bit looser?”

She thinks about it for a second before shaking her head.

“That’s fine.” I glance at the sofa in the powder room. “Think you can lie down?”

“I can try. Can you⁠—”

“Do you want to lie down on my lap? That way I can stay close.”

“Please.”

God, I’m an evil son of a bitch. I love the sound of her saying please, but the fact that she’s said it so many times in the past few minutes eats away at me, because the old Andi would never say please this much in such a short amount of time for such trivial things.

I settle on one end of the couch, resting my arm on the rest and beckoning her over with the other.

She eases herself down onto the couch, swinging her legs up and leaning back until she’s settled with her head against my arm.

Her hands are clasped across her stomach, and her eyes are closed. A position that should symbolize peace and rest but currently just seems to highlight the state she’s in.

I pet her hair softly, careful to not mess with the design. She shifts against my touch, almost like she’s buzzing up into my hand.

“I wish I could just whisk you away and save you from this,” I murmur. “But... we don’t have much time.”

“It’s okay,” she breathes out, her eyes still closed. “You being here is enough.”

“No.” The single syllable is harsher than I intended it to be. But I can’t help it. “It’s fucking not. I can’t just let you say that, Sweet Tea.”

“Oh.” She blinks up at me, her brows drawing down in concern. She takes a second to take in my expression, which must be twisted with the sea of anguish threatening to drown me right now.

“This isn’t okay. None of it is. Please, Andi, I need you to know that. Tell me you know this isn’t right.”

She’s silent for far too long.