Enamored (7 page)

Lauren stepped into the long, flowing dress, and heard a seam rip. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she said. Did Marc have any idea how humiliating this would be for her? Was that why he wanted her to do it?

No. Marc wasn’t like that.

He just wanted her to look pretty but in something different from what she’d have chosen herself. If she’d been going to the wedding on her own, she’d be wearing something long but black (or red—he knew her so well), with a deep neckline and a halter top. Something that she could buy off the rack in her own size, with other women shopping around her. And the dress would cost a hundred, not a few (or more?) thousand dollars.

“Don’t worry, honey, happens all the time. It’s just a seam, easily fixable.” Charlotte smiled and helped her pull the dress up and over her shoulder. The entire back of the dress was open, so Charlotte stood behind her at the full-length mirror and held the back of the dress against her skin with her cool hands.

And—from the front at least—the dress was stunning. Even with her most notorious asset—her tits—completely covered, having her one pale shoulder peeking out added just a hint of allure, while the pale blue material brought out the blue in her eyes and made her red hair seem to shine as if the sunlight had settled on it.

“Yes,” Tiff and Charlotte said in unison.

Lauren laughed. “First try! Let’s do it. So how will the back look when it’s been tailored?”

“It will look like it was meant to look, perfect,” Charlotte promised. “Let me just get some material and pin this for the seamstress so she’ll have the basics, and then you can come back in a few hours for a final fitting.” She turned to Tiff. “Hold this in place.”

Tiff eagerly took Charlotte’s place behind Lauren, pressing the material against her skin to keep it from falling off. “No marks,” she murmured. “I’m shocked.”

Lauren gave her the evil eye, staring her down through the mirror, until Tiff coughed. “Sorry, Mistress Lauren.”

She sighed. “It’s okay. I’m not Mistress Lauren this week, I suppose. I imagine I’ll get my marks tonight, if it goes better than last night did.”

“Why?” Tiff asked, obviously happy to be in on the details. “What happened last night?”

“We had a hard time remembering who was supposed to be on top, so . . . not much, scene-wise.”

“Oh.” She looked disappointed.

“It was still quite the interesting experience, for both of us. I don’t think either of us have done it without toys and bondage for a long time.” Lauren laughed. “Don’t say anything to Marc, please.”

“I won’t say a word,” Tiff said. “You can tell me anything. I’m Marc’s secretary, but I’m not his sub. And you can obviously use a sounding board right now if you can’t talk to Marc about it.”

Huh. So true. Marc was her sounding board, as Tiff called it, and he was the one she would have gone to to share the juicy details of her sexcapades if they hadn’t . . . well, been with him. They loved to one-up each other, teasing each other with stories of their triumphs.

But last night, Marc had clearly won. The fact that she was standing in half of a dress, spending his money at his command, proved it.

“Knock, knock,” Charlotte sang again, and came in with plain white linen, which she quickly pinned to the back of the dress. With the linen in place, she stepped back, so Lauren could see what she looked like.

“Demure, yet beautiful,” Tiff said. “We’ll take it.”

“You’ll have to take two, as you know,” Charlotte smiled.

“Ring ’em up,” Lauren said. “Don’t even tell me the price. I’ll faint.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. Ma’am. Lauren loved hearing that, even from a saleslady. Would she ever be able to give up hearing that, for a chance to be with Marc?

“Just for a week,” she whispered to herself in the mirror.

“Pardon?” Charlotte asked.

“Nothing.”

Tiff helped her out of the dress, and Lauren flashed her her naked breasts with a smirk. “You must be enjoying this part of your job.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d tell you not to flatter yourself,” Tiff said. “But it’s you, so . . . um, yeah. Hell yeah.”

They giggled and Lauren quickly pulled her own clothing back on. High-waisted dark jeans and low-cut black tank top and boots.

“I suppose we need shoes now,” Lauren said as they went back out front. She tried to sign the AmEx slip without looking at the numbers, though she couldn’t help but notice her assumption that the two dresses would cost thousands had been an underestimation, to say the least.

“That includes the tailoring and state and local taxes,” Charlotte said, clearly noticing her raised eyebrows.

Lauren shrugged in a way she hoped appeared nonchalant. “Hopefully Mr. Wilde drank a lot of coffee this morning, then.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Charlotte asked as they were walking out the door to hunt down some shoes. “Don’t try to match the blue with the shoes. Go silver, or go nude. No ankle straps because they’ll shorten the look of your legs. Perhaps some open-toed stilettos.”

Tiff nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” She pulled out her phone and texted someone. “We have an appointment for a mani-pedi in two hours, so we better find those shoes now.”

“My nails are already done,” Lauren said, admiring the dark burgundy polish.

“Your nails scream gothic Domme,” Tiff said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally hot, but tonight you need a French manicure and pedicure. Beautiful but demure, remember?”

And submissive.
Right
.

M
arc sat with Roman and Trevor in Trevor’s den, or his “man-cave” as his house manager Adele always referred to it. They still had about an hour before the wedding ceremony and reception, which would take place there, at Trevor’s enormous Westchester estate.

Outside, the staff had created a beautiful tented reception hall, decorated with more flowers and tiny white lights than Marc had ever seen before, and dozens of round tables with ice-sculpture centerpieces.

The ceremony would take place at sunset, and the rows of white chairs and floral arrangements, along with hanging Chinese lanterns, created a fairy-tale effect.

“Elisabeth really outdid herself with all the wedding planning,” Marc said, sipping his scotch on the rocks. “The place looks amazing.”

“Guests are already arriving,” Trevor said, a hint of nervousness in his usually commanding voice. “Should I be out there?”

“Nah, we’re already in our penguin suits, and you’re not supposed to see the bride in her dress anyway. Adele won’t let you be late to your own wedding.”

“No, she’s running this wedding like it’s the Olympics. She and Elisabeth have been planning this for months. Now the girls are upstairs with Julian getting ready,” Trevor said with a smile.

Julian, Elisabeth’s on-call hair and makeup stylist, was a genius. Marc thought it was cool of Trevor to let Lauren join the rest of the bridal party upstairs as they got beautified, or whatever the heck they did.

“Where’s your date, man?” Marc asked Roman.

“I decided not to bring anyone.” He shrugged, a piece of his long hair slipping out of his short ponytail, hanging in his face. At least he’d shaved for the occasion.

“We talked about this,” Marc muttered.

“I hired an escort to take, fucked her, and then decided I’d rather have her waiting for me naked at my place for when this thing is over rather than having her glomming for a picture on Page Six.”

Trevor nodded in empathy. “Makes sense.”

“I need to see Lauren privately before we head outside, though. Can I make use of one of your guest rooms?” Marc asked.

Trevor laughed. “Poor Lauren, what have you got up your sleeve?”

“Well, she’s supposed to be my submissive this week, including tonight. So I figured I’d help her remember.”

“Smart man,” Roman nodded approvingly. “A woman with a sore ass is much more likely to remember how to behave.”

“You sound so old-school fifties when you say shit like that, man,” Trevor joked, but Roman just smirked.

“Tell me you didn’t play with Elisabeth last night, just a little.”

“Guilty,” Trevor laughed. “But in all fairness, it was at her own request.”

Marc caught a haunted look, a look of longing in Roman’s eyes at Trevor’s response. When would Roman man up and get over her?

“All right,” Marc said, setting his drink down and standing. “I’m going into the lioness’s den to find Lauren and take care of business. I’ll be out in time for the groomsmen photos and stuff.”

He leaned over to whisper in Roman’s ear, “Don’t get drunk, man. You’ve got a toast to give at the reception.”

“I know.”

“Are you nervous?” Marc wouldn’t usually ask something like that of Roman, who never showed fear of any kind. But this was different. This was the woman he thought he loved marrying his best friend.

“Do I look nervous? I didn’t even write anything down. I’m winging it.”

Shit. That sounded like a recipe for disaster. “Don’t say anything about your feelings for Elisabeth,” Marc warned.

“Go fuck your girlfriend,” Roman said, and smiled as he flipped him off.

L
auren opened her eyes. “Can I look now?” she asked Julian.

“Girl, you
best
look, after all the time I spent on them gorgeous eyes of yours,” he said, flipping his Hermès scarf over his shoulder.

Lauren turned to the huge mirror in Elisabeth’s dressing room and gasped with surprise. She was used to seeing herself with thick black eyeliner and red lipstick, a look that totally worked for her usually. But tonight, Julian had played up the blue in her eyes with a shimmery copper eyeshadow and blue accents, along with long, black lashes. Her lips were a glossy pink, a color she hadn’t worn since she was pubescent, but in the pale blue dress, it worked.

“I love it! You’re a genius!”

Julian tipped an invisible hat and smiled. “I washed the kink off your face,” he said matter-of-factly.

Elisabeth squealed with delight at Lauren’s transformation. “You look fabulous,” she said. Turning to her bridesmaids, Trevor’s two sisters and one sister-in-law, her face lit up. “Everyone does!”

But it was Elisabeth who looked the most stunning, as she should. After dress-shopping for herself, Lauren had no doubt that Elisabeth’s wedding dress cost tens of thousands of dollars at least. Maybe more. There were crystal accents that might be actual diamonds along the neckline, and her tiara, with the veil flowing behind it, was undoubtedly made of diamonds. Why would a billionaire’s bride wear anything less?

“I love your dress,” Lauren said. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Thanks. I helped design it, and it was custom-made for me.”

“It’s perfect,” one of the sisters said in agreement.

There was a knock on the door.

“No boys allowed,” Elisabeth called.

“It’s Marc,” came the reply.

Oh my God. Marc. Would he approve of how she looked? She glanced at herself in the mirror once more. He better. This was as “demure but beautiful” as she knew how to get.

“Is Lauren in there? Can she come out to play?” he teased, calling through the door.

Elisabeth nodded in her direction. “Go, have fun. Don’t keep him too long though, the men are having their pictures taken by the fountain in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” she whispered, suddenly nervous. “I’m coming,” she called.

No one raised an eyebrow. One of the benefits of hanging out with Elisabeth, who was a wonderful sub to Trevor.

Lauren exited the dressing room, nearly walking into Marc, he’d been standing so close to the door.

“Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.” He took her hand and twirled her around, checking her out from every angle. “Unbelievable. I mean, you’re always gorgeous, but this . . . wow.”

Lauren laughed. “I’ve done the impossible and finally made you speechless, I see.”

“It’s just . . . I mean, I’ve seen you in jeans, and in a bathing suit. And of course I’ve seen you in your leather. But this is a whole new side of you.”

“You’ve also seen me naked, or did you forget?” she teased. She loved the look on his face. It made her feel cherished and new somehow—like she’d just made Marc see her in a different light. The depth of his admiration empowered her. She swirled around again, grinning.