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Chapter 56

Kathleen

"Does this dress make me look straight?"

Eve turns on the dais, pulling a wedgie out of her ass, grimacing, and giving me a look that says, "Answer right, damnit."

I can't. I'm trying too hard not to laugh.

Seeing Eve in a dress isn't enough. I know she wears one every blue moon or so, but those are very sexy numbers that show off her edges and the bite to her personality. The dress she's wearing now, however, does anything but. It looks like a grandma's dress. A pale, rosy, pink that doesn't scream vivacious but painfully Victorian. I'm almost certain that the last person to wear such a dress came from that century.

We're in The Ruby Peacock, the same boutique sporting the dress Stephanie May wore the other day. Yet if someone in Eve's family is going to get married, then the only place to shop for a bridesmaid dress is here. And poor Eve has been roped into being a bridesmaid for the first time in her life.

She looks hilariously miserable.

"They told me I could wear a suit," she mumbles, looking at herself in the mirror and picking at the spaghetti straps clinging to her bony shoulders. "Wouldn't it be weird if I'm the only woman out of eight who is wearing a suit? I thought wearing a dress wouldn't be so bad. Especially when they told me the color had to be red or dark pink. Who wears a suit of that color? I would look so stupid."

I mean, she has a point.

Even so, Eve Warner is not a woman who struts around in dresses like the ones The Ruby Peacock sells. When I agreed to go shopping with her this Sunday afternoon, I knew it would be a doozy. I plan on picking up a few new things myself, but first I need to see this bullshit.

I am so not disappointed.

The worker named Gertrude brings out another red dress for Eve to consider. Part of the problem is that she's so tall. Like, over six feet tall. Put her in some heels, or even slightly raised flats, and she's a giant. Works well for the BDSM club and intimidating those around her but doesn't do much to give off a feminine air in a dress.... especially when you're a butch lesbian who is so sour it makes your lips pucker.

"What do you think?" She holds up the red halter dress Gertrude brought over. "Please be honest. I don't want to be embarrassed at my sister's wedding."

I cock my head in serious consideration. Another employee brings me a refill of champagne, but I'm still working on the last one. "You need something sexy, but not too sexy for a wedding. Something mid-length, hm?"

"When you're my height, everything is mid-length, even those so-called maxi dresses."

"Point. You don't want any sleeves either. You have gorgeous collarbones and spine. You should show those off. Cover the tits."

Gertrude, who has been listening to my thoughts, rushes to the other side of the store and hauls over a white dress matching those specifications. Before we can protest, she assures us that it's perfect for dyeing a shade of red to go with Eve's fair skin and hair. The seamstress on hand will be more than willing to come out with some dye swatches and match them to Eve's skin tone. With red, that's pretty important.

"Try it on," I say. "You can't do much worse than what you're already wearing." You have no idea how much I want to start guffawing like a baboon watching Eve scuttle off the dais and back to the changing room, pulling wedgie after wedgie out of her ass. Girl does not know how to walk in dresses like that.

While she's gone, I get up and peruse the wares. The woman who brought me champagne asks if I need help, but I tell her I'm happy to browse for now.

I have no real need for a new dress, although I know the Mathisons will want me to wear something recent and stylish for the hotel opening in a few weeks. So, it doesn't hurt to look, even if I'm 50k down a month now.

Yup. Still bitter.

Although I'm a woman, and I've had a lot of cash to burn my whole life, I've never been into the fashion scene. I enjoy shopping. I love trying on a cute dress and then wearing it out to lunch with friends or on a date with someone like Ira. The one great thing about being filthy rich is that money is rarely an option. If I like a blouse, I get it. I can even get them tailored to fit my breasts, shoulders, and abdomen. It does mean I have way too many clothes, but I give them away to my assistants or make sure they're put to good use somewhere. For my last charity, I sold a lot of my old designer clothes I no longer think suit me. Brought in a few thousand!

Except I'm not "into" fashion. I don't have any designer friends. I don't go to fashion shows unless there's someone I like who really wants me to come.

So coming to The Ruby Peacock once in a while means I get to see some pretty nice clothes that all seem brand-new to me.

There are a few dresses I might try on when Eve's finished. A little black number that's off one shoulder and sports diamonds along the hem. Another is a deep, forest green and has a mosaic sash to die for. Then there's this soft blue number that would look great with my hair.

I wonder which one Ira would like most.

Damnit.

"Well?" Eve walks out – in flats, this time – and shows off the white dress. White is way more her color than red, but that's beside the point. We're supposed to be looking at the cut and fit of the dress in the hopes of dyeing it later.

Eve has a difficult frame to work with. She's supermodel tall, has bony shoulders but a wide chest. Her hips are about average, her abs muscular, and her thigh gap the envy of every woman we know – don't ask her how she gets it, because it's purely genetics. Eve knows how to dress in pants to make her look great, but dresses and skirts are a different story. Especially with the blond pixie cut and a demeanor that screams butch in charge.

The bust accentuates her breasts while the straps blend into her collarbone. The dress cinches at the waist and ends above the knee. Gertrude comes out with a diamond-studded belt to show how the look can be accessorized. Yes, the dress is stupidly simple, but that's what a woman as striking as Eve needs.

"Get it," I say. Then, to the girl with the champagne, "How about those color swatches? I think my friend would like to leave before she has a brain hemorrhage."

Eve clasps her hands and dramatically thanks me, Gertrude heaving her own thanks beneath her breath. The girls here work on a nice commission.

The swatches come out. Everyone blanches at the red oranges against Eve's skin. The pinker we go, the more we laugh. Yet when we go darker, to the crimsons and the scarlets, her pale skin is so washed out that I can only feel sympathy for her.

"I'm tired. I don't care what color it is. Make it not look like shit on me. That's all I ask."

Isn't that the only thing any of us asks?

They have to wait for the woman in charge to come in before they can continue, so Eve sits down in her white dress and encourages me to try on some clothes. I take the opportunity to try on those three dresses I mentioned earlier, disappearing into the changing room with Champagne Girl and letting her help me so she can get her commission.

I don't bother walking out with the green dress. It's hideous!

I parade the black dress out, however, and Eve is too tired to do more than whistle her approval. After some turning on the dais, I'm convinced it flatters my ass enough to be considered for purchase.

The blue dress, on the other hand, is the one that rouses Eve from her slumber.

"Honey, if we weren't friends and I didn't feel like shit, I would be hitting on you."

It doesn't only flatter my figure. The blue does exactly what I anticipated with my hair – namely, make it one of the focal points of my look. I can't help but grin at the way it rests on top of the sultry blue.

For the briefest second, I wonder what Ira's favorite color is. I don't think I've ever asked. I bet it's a shade of blue.

"Since you're a verboten lover, though," Eve continues, "I'll have to consider it from the point of view of someone like your boi-toy." She sticks her hand between her legs and gives me a thumbs-up. I know what she really means.

"Shut up."

My blushing gives me away. "Uh-huh. You know they'd rip that dress off you in two seconds. Or at least want to."

Gertrude chooses that moment to walk away. Champagne Girl politely moves off to the side and pretends to be disinterested in our conversation. Thank God Eve didn't mention Ira by name, because these girls are notoriously chatty with each other.

"Hm. You didn't admonish me and say that they're not your girlfriend. I see how it is. When's the wedding? I want to know if I can wear this dress twice." She winces. "And make sure I get to be your maid of honor. I lost that to Jamie fucking Joy this time. Did you know that she and Monique are bosom buddies? What a wild world."

I'm barely listening. She lost me at the wedding talk. "We're not getting married. Not tomorrow, not in a year, probably not in a decade." Even if Ira and I somehow became engaged, I doubt I would go through with a marriage anytime soon. Too much to deal with, both realistically and emotionally.

"Come on. Humor me. You have hardly said a thing about you and them since we last talked about what they do to you. What's new?"

I keep my lips shut. I still haven't told Eve about submitting. Of course, if any Domme were to go easy on me for it, it would be her, my best friend. She may not get it, but I don't think she'd treat me much differently. Still, I haven't been able to bring myself to say anything to her.

Because at the end of the day, I'm still embarrassed by it.

And now Ira wants me to be a 24/7 submissive for a few days. For some stupid reason, I agreed to do it. Don't ask me why! I suppose I'm curious. She says it will be the last of my training before… before what? Before I'm capable of being her submissive at a moment's notice? That I could submit to another Domme if I wanted? I have no idea what it means. Not sure I want to know right now.

I don't even want to know what she has planned for me. I know one thing I'm demanding of her, and that's a couple of hours a day when I can take off the collar and be my own woman.

It's hard for me to think about this because I'm hanging out with my Domme friend and trying to have a good time at a boutique. So I ignore Eve's prying about my sex life with Ira and tell Champagne Girl that I would like to ring up the black and blue dresses. I hand her my credit card and continue to admire myself in the mirror. I have a tailor who can make the minor alterations necessary to make this dress really pop.

She returns not even five minutes later. "Ms. Allen," she begins sheepishly. "I can't charge this card."

"What?" My veins thicken as I take the card and wonder who the hell I call about this. Eve sits up in her seat and watches with intrigue. "It didn't go through?"

"Oh, I didn't run it." Poor Champagne Girl looks like I'm about to smack her on the head. "There have been very specific instructions left regarding any purchases made by you."

"What?" I haven't been here in at least four months! The last time I came here everything went smoothly. What the fuck is going on? "You're shitting me, right?"

Girl is cowering now. No. No, she is not shitting me. As I imagine the fucking worst, she says, "Someone has offered to cover all purchases you make here."

I lower my scolding finger. "Excuse me?"

"The note says that a separate card is to be charged anytime you want to purchase something from our boutique. I'm sorry if I frightened you, Ms. Allen."

Who the fuck is buying clothes for me?

Oh, no. I know who it is.

"This very generous benefactor's name wouldn't happen to be Ira Mathison, would it?" My hands are on my hips, and Eve is cackling behind me. "Because you can tell them to piss off for me. I will buy my own clothes."

Champagne Girl doesn't have to tell me. I know it's Ira. She probably did this after I agreed to her upcoming submission game.

There are a lot of things I'm willing to play around with. Having her pay for my pretty dresses is not one of them.

Who does she think I am? One of her lower-class girlfriends she can "spoil" with treats from her money? I don't think so! My father's been spoiling me since I spilled out of my mother's womb. Before that! Shit, I remember him telling me that my mom would take "in utero" French lessons. Meaning she paid for a French tutor to read stories to me in the womb. I would like to point out that I don't know French, so that was a waste of money.

I know I was whining about having to pay Stephanie May 50k a month, but I'm not that hard up for money. I can drop a couple of grand on these dresses and barely see it nudge my bank account. What I will see, however, is the way Ira looks at me when I show up in a dress she bought for me, and not as a present.

As a favor. A courtesy.

Fuuuuck her.

"I don't care what Ira Mathison says. I will be buying my own dresses, thank you." I shove my credit card back into Champagne Girl's hands. "Although…" On the couch, Eve is still giggling, her dress bunched up around her waist and her straps slipping off her bony shoulders. "I'm sure they would love to make their contribution to the Warners' wedding celebrations and pay for a lovely bridesmaid dress to be tailored and dyed."

"Oh! Ira's buying me something?"

I grin at my friend as Champagne Girl walks away, this time with the intent to run my credit card. "Seems like it. She's not buying me anything…"

"Dearest Kathleen." She's awake now. So awake that her legs are crossing and she's leaning forward, that glint of making trouble in her eye. "Why is someone like them trying to buy you clothes? Don't they know you can afford your own well enough? You're not Jamie Joy or, dare I say it, Monique."

I roll my eyes. Yes, those women don't have anywhere near the amount of money I have, but last I heard Monique makes a hefty sum from her business and Jamie has plenty of her own personal funds from her girlfriend. For them, however, part of the thrill is their women buying them niceties. Pretty sure women like Monique, who are lifestyle submissives, get off on it.

I don't get off on it!

"Hey, if your lover wants to get me some clothes, far be it from me to tell them otherwise," Eve says with a wink. "I don't have nearly the same amount of money as you do."

"One day you will. Finish grad school first."

"Feh. Grad school."

"I know. I remember."

After changing back into my day clothes, I leave Eve to deal with the woman who will dye her dress. This is after making sure my card was charged for my clothing. I hope Ira enjoys knowing that she bought Evelyn Warner a bridesmaid dress. She'll probably give me an earful.

I rather hope so.

Since I don't live too far from the CBD, I decide to walk home as opposed to hailing a cab. One of these days I'll get a car to roll around in. I'm not big on driving, though, and cars are boring. I'd rather be driven around, and that is an alternative I can look into. But it's bothersome finding a driver and a car. Annie could do most of the filtering for me, but at the end of the day, I still need to make the time to interview and find a driver I trust. Plus paying them.

Yeah, rather walk or take a cab.

"Ms. Allen," the doorman says outside my building. He always greets me if he notices me, but today he's approaching, making sure he has my attention. "A letter was left at the desk to be delivered personally to you." He hands me an envelope marked only as the letter I. Uh-huh.

"Thank you." I flash the doorman a smile before hopping into the elevator and heading up to my floor. There's a text from Annie on my phone, saying she tidied up my place and took care of the cat. Turns out Annie loves cats and has two of her own. When I randomly brought Sinéad home a few weeks ago, I never thought I'd see my assistant come back down from the cosmos. My housecleaner doesn't even have to clean up after the cat. My assistant is more than happy to do it. Weirdo.

I wait to read the letter until I'm tucked away in my apartment, curled up on my sofa with a blanket around me and tea cooling on the coffee table. Anything Ira had personally delivered to me like this must be given careful attention.

Fuck the tea. I instantly wish I had grabbed alcohol the moment I saw what was in the letter.

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