“No problem,” she says, eventually, in thickly accented English. “Come with me, honey.”
She holds out her arm to me and ushers me into a changing room, leaving me startled. I stand behind the curtain alone for a moment, not sure of what to do before she reappears with several swathes of different-colored fabrics over her arm.
“Okay!” she exclaims. “So, I have the best colors for your skin here. We try these first, okay?”
I nod uncertainly, and the curtains are closed behind us as the stylist gets to work.
Somehow, within the space of about ten minutes, she manages to put me completely at ease. Not only that, but she works quick fire through a series of items, asking me what I do and don’t like about them until she brings me what she says are her ‘magic choices’ – things that she’s absolutely sure I will love.
Following her advice, and starting to feel what might just be a flutter of hope, I put on a deep royal blue dress and step out of the changing room, seeking out both my stylist and Fernando for their opinions.
“Well?” I ask hesitantly, smoothing down the front of the dress. “What do you think?”
Fernando’s mouth is practically hanging open. “What do you think?” he asks and gestures to the full-length mirror I haven’t quite dared to look into yet.
And I could almost cry. Because standing in front of me is a beautiful, vibrant, adult woman. Not a little girl, not a fat girl, not an ugly girl.
I look amazing.
And it’s all because of Fernando.
Chapter Fifteen
Fernando
I stare at Ashley and shake my head in wonder. “So, we’ll take that one, for sure,” I say.
Ashley looks back at me, from where she has been rapt by her reflection. I don’t need to ask her if she wants it. It’s all over her face. “Oh, no,” she says, anyway. “Oh, no. You can’t.”
“I can,” I tell her. I reach out and take her hand, and kiss the back of it. “I told you. My treat.”
“This is more than a treat,” she says, with wide eyes. I guess she must have seen the price tag.
“To me, it’s only a small thing,” I assure her. “I’d rather see you happy then have the money in the bank. Please, Ash.”
She nods, a little helplessly, and stares at her reflection for a long, lingering moment. Then she turns and goes back into the changing room – and I call after her so that she’s not mistaken.
“Don’t forget to try on the rest,” I tell her. “I want to see them all!”
I smile to myself imagining her reaction behind the curtain. Even though she doesn't say anything, I can imagine that she must be trying hard not to argue. I've already learned that Ashley's nature is to feel guilty when people buy things for her. Well, she's going to have to get used to that. I have no intention to stop treating her anytime soon.
Especially when she looks like that.
I don’t have to wait long before Ashley emerges again, wearing the second outfit that the stylist picked out for her. I set down my phone, which I was guiltily browsing for work emails, and take her in full.
And then I forget that work exists, I forget the concept of time, I forget that I even own a phone. What's my name again? All I know is that I'm looking at the most beautiful goddess that has ever existed on this earth.
“Do you like it?” Ashley asks, shyly.
I stare at her from head to toe one more time. “Do I like it?” I splutter.
She's wearing a tight dress that hugs all of her curves in all the right places, splashed in bright red, with a scooped neck that just gives the slightest hint of her amazing breasts without actually showing anything. A split up the thigh goes almost all the way up her hip, giving me just the tiniest hint of what I really want to get my hands on. She turns around in front of me, showing me how the fabric hugs tightly across her beautiful ass, stretched and flowing in just the right way.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so hot.
I want to push her into that changing room right now and tear that dress off her.
I adjust my seat, picking up one of the cushions from the side of the chair and laying it across my lap. “We’re getting that one,” I tell her seriously, and from the way she doesn’t even argue this time but simply bites her lip, I can tell she knows how good she looks in it too.
When she disappears inside the changing room again, I don't pick my phone back up. Instead, I use my time to think about her, imagining that dress pooled in a puddle of fabric on my floor. My bedroom floor. Hell, maybe not even the bedroom - we might not get that far. The stairs, the kitchen, the hallway, maybe even on the driveway. If she was walking around with me in that dress, I don't think I would be able to keep my hands off her.