The Marriage Auction: Book One(15)
I nodded. “It’s as beautiful as were the last five sets you made me try on.” I sighed.
“You must be batshit crazy to put me in that!” Dakota’s frustrated voice rang through the air from across the room. “There’s no way on God’s green Earth that I’m wearing that. It needs a lot more fabric, honey. Look at this ass.” She smacked her toned booty. “I need full coverage, sister.” She pointed to the pair she’d been wearing when she came in. “If you have anything like these, I’ll wear ’em. If not, why can’t I wear my own?” she griped.
My stylist shook her head and tsked. “If she wants to be chosen, she needs to put those goods on display, not hide them.” She plucked at the edge of the tiny panties I currently wore.
“Maybe she’s the kind of woman who likes to surprise her man.” I shrugged, trying to be supportive.
“That’s not the goal,” Greta confirmed.
“No, it is not,” I reiterated, understanding the goal. It was all I thought about. Getting chosen. Getting the down payment. Sending that money to my dad. I stood straighter and smiled. “Okay, what happens next? It’s getting late.” I glanced at the clock and noted it was already eight p.m. We’d been in styling for hours. My face, hair, nails, feet, and body had been primed to the nth degree. I wanted to get this show on the road.
Before Greta could answer my question, Madam Alana entered the room with two gorgeous Caucasian women behind her. One blonde, one brunette. They were both dressed in beautiful gowns, their hair and makeup immaculate. It was obvious the women would be part of the auction but weren’t included in our group of newbies.
Madam Alana had changed into a perfectly tailored black sequin dress. It shifted and moved with her like oil over water. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, the black strands hanging pin-straight down her back.
“Good evening, ladies. Let’s take a look at your lingerie and discuss this evening’s proceedings. Stephanie, Elizabeth, you two can freshen up over there while I check in with our newest candidates.” The two women waved at our group, then did as Madam Alana bade.
I waited with my nerves in my throat as she came over to me first and scanned me from top to toe. My cheeks pinked at her blatant perusal while she tilted her head and walked around my body.
“Perfection. Great work, Greta. Put her in the strapless dark-blue velvet gown with the sweetheart bodice. Keep her lovely hair down but pinned behind her ears.” She cupped my chin. “I want nothing hiding this stunning face. You are a true beauty, Ms. Marino.”
I bit down on my bottom lip. “Thank you,” I whispered, actually feeling beautiful for the first time in what seemed like forever. Being on the run didn’t give me a lot of time for primping or caring much about my features. The focus was always on staying safe while being leery of everything and everyone. I looked forward to not having to look over my shoulder. To sleep peacefully through the night without wondering if I’d wake to a dark figure over my bed, ready to hurt me.
Madam Alana took her time with each person, adjusting their styling or choosing different items than what they currently wore.
I waited until she got to Dakota, who was standing in her own mint-green boy-cut cotton panties and a sports bra. If I’d known these women better, I’d have been laughing my ass off. Dakota was gorgeous. Her body that of an athlete, or a woman who spent her days doing manual labor and riding horses. She had probably a C-cup on top like my own, a ripped stomach, and tight booty. Her legs were long and muscular. She rocked the toned look, and even though she had a tomboy style and way about her, she would definitely turn some heads tonight.
“What do we have here?” Madam Alana clasped her hands together and rested her chin on her fingertips.
Dakota hooked a thumb to her miserable stylist. “Anna wants me to wear a thong. I don’t do thongs. Not even on my feet.”
I snorted under my breath and pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
“Anna, do you recall the sporty sets that new designer created? Van Wyk?”
The stylist nodded and raced across the room to the long shelves filled with clothing. She grabbed two sets of something and brought them over.
One was a dark eggplant color, and the other was red.
“The purple, darling.” She snapped her fingers and made a ‘give-me’ gesture.
Anna placed the items in her hands.
Madam Alana held the material against Dakota’s frame. It was a unique style that I’d not seen before and was made of shiny fabric that caught the light, much like a bathing suit would.
“Put this on. Hurry along, dear. We don’t have all night.” Her tone was direct and lacking any humor.
Dakota pushed down her undies, and I noted all of us looked away, especially the single guy, Memphis, who was wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs that molded to his muscular form magnificently.
“Now that, my dear, is quite astonishing,” I heard Madam Alana say.
I turned around and watched as Dakota looked at her form in the mirror. The boy-short bottoms provided full coverage but had cut outs that crisscrossed at the hips, making them sexier. The top, however, was smokin’ hot. It wrapped around her neck and crossed over each breast, making an “X” shape, and then came down and around her ribcage in swaths of stretchy fabric.
“Put her in the purple halter. The reveal will be incredible,” Madam Alana gushed.