I step into them and . . . oh hell, so tight. I struggle and breathe in as I slowly pull them up. I put my hands on my hips as I stare at the Lycra black underwear in the mirror. It looks like shiny short bike pants. Jeez . . . I guess there’s no breathing tonight, then?
I put on the black lacy bra, the superboostiest thing I have ever seen. The girls are nearly at my neck. Surely people can’t wear this shit every day, can they?
My honey hair is out and curled in big Hollywood finger curls, and my makeup is sultry, with red lipstick.
I walk back out into the bedroom and pick up my dress, and Christopher glances in as he walks past the bedroom door. He stops and puts his head back around the doorjamb. He’s wearing a black dinner suit, white shirt, and black bow tie: classic black-tie porn. I’ve never seen anyone so handsome.
Delicious.
He frowns as he looks me up and down. “What’s happening right now?”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. He means my underwear.
“I’m getting dressed,” I reply. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
He walks into the bedroom and circles me as he looks me up and down. “What . . .”
I put my hands on my hips as I wait for him to say it out loud.
He sweeps his hand in the area of my Spanx. “What is this?”
“What’s what?”
“Those gigantic underpants.”
“Spanx.”
“Hayden, when I look at those, the last thing I’m thinking about is spanking you.”
I giggle. “No, silly, that’s the name of them. They hold all your bits in, smooth everything out.”
He raises an eyebrow as he keeps circling me, his eyes drinking me in. “Diabolical.”
“What is?”
“Genius marketing,” he mutters to himself.
“Huh?”
“They package grandma underpants with the promise of making a woman thinner, smooth, and rewarded with spanking.” He nods as he contemplates the concept. “Brilliant. I need to hire the marketing head of this company. They’ve totally nailed it.”
I laugh. Trust him to analyze the marketing plan. I put my hands on my hips. “It’s what married women wear.”
“I have to tell you, and I know I speak for all mankind”—he curls his lip—“not a huge incentive to walk down that aisle.”
I giggle. “Get out. Let me get dressed.”
He kisses me quickly and walks out of the room. “Take them off,” he calls as he disappears up the hall. “My woman has curves.”
I smile as I step into my dress. I love that man.
“Your seats are this way, Mr. Miles.” The usher gestures. With my hand firmly in Christopher’s, we follow him into the ballroom. I look around in awe . . . my god.
This place is spectacular.
A string quartet plays in the corner. Huge crystal vases of flowers, chandeliers hanging low, candles flickering on all the tables, creating a beautiful ambience. Everyone is in black tie and looking ever so glamorous. The room is abuzz with chatter and loud laughter.
Boy . . . this is full on.
I suddenly feel very out of my depth, like I don’t belong here, nervous like never before. I grip Christopher’s hand with white-knuckle force.
“It’s fine, Grumps.” He winks at me over his shoulder. “You look beautiful.”
How does he always know exactly what to say?