Thursday evening found Mrs. Sinclair draping yellow fabric over Abigail’s forearm. She shook her head, displeased at the piece of finery, and reached for another. This one was white and flowy still her mother wasn’t appreciative. She dragged Abigail by the arm to an array of orange dresses and conducted the earlier process.
“Mother,” Abigail said, exasperated. “I already told Niall and Mike orange wasn’t my color.”
“Oh, but honey, this isn’t your wedding. It’s theirs.” Someone needed to tell her that. “If they like orange, they’re getting a tangerine Maid of Honor.”
Abigail rolled her eyes and looked at the clock above the cashier’s desk, wondering where the hell Mike was.
Her appointment with Dr. Mitchell was in forty-five minutes. She was close to hitting her mark since her last contraceptive shot and she wasn’t going to chance pregnancy for an extra hour in a bridal shop that made her skin crawl with every hideous dress she saw.
Leaving her mother to skim through the curtain of dresses on the rack, Abigail pulled out her phone. As her thumb hovered over Mike’s name, the bell on the main entrance of the boutique chimed open.
She propped both hands on either side of her hips and waited for them to find her. When Mike met her gaze, he let out a laugh and rushed to her side. He engulfed her with open arms. It had been days since they’d last seen each other. Abigail wanted to hug him as much as she wanted to strangle him for making her spend more unnecessary time with their mother.
“You’re late.” She hit his shoulder as she kissed Niall.
“Ow!”
“That was my fault, Abby. I thought I could squeeze a quick audition before coming but the performance ran too long,” Niall explained. How could she stay mad at his pretty Broadway face? Simply, she couldn’t.
“Okay, I forgive you. What colors did you say you were using? Mom tried to get me into an orange dress.”
“Winter colors. So, blue, silver, and gray.”
“Long or short?” Mom joined the conversation, hugging the men.
“Long with sleeves,” Abigail was sure to advise. “It’s going to be in the middle of December, isn’t it? I don’t want to freeze to death.”
“Oh, please, you’re not going to look like a nun at our wedding. Plus, it’ll be indoors.”
Abigail had no desire to look overly modest at Mike’s wedding. It was her cuts and welts, her bruises and blisters that needed to stay hidden. If any member of their family or an acquaintance at the wedding saw her palette body, they’d call it domestic abuse and wouldn’t think twice before calling the police.
Mike wasn’t the only melodramatic person she knew who’d be making an appearance at their wedding.
Niall chimed in, “I think we both agree we want something chic and winterlandish.”
“Do the same rules apply for the Mothers of the Grooms?” Abigail needed to steer the attention in a different direction, preferably one that didn’t point to her wrists. Although it’d been days since the last time Master Trice hurt her, her wrists were smeared with the indentations of the ropes he’d used to tie her up. Her back still carried the bruises and scabs the flogger had left behind.
“Of course, just a bit old fashion because it’s Mom.” Abigail giggled at her brother’s joke, though she didn’t doubt he’d pick the ugliest dress for her just to watch her squirm.
“Ha-ha, you two are so funny.” Melissa turned her attention to Niall. “Niall, will your mother be joining us today?”
“She’s stuck in traffic but should be here in twenty minutes.”
Rack after rack, dress after dress, the foursome searched the quaint boutique for just the right dress. After fifteen minutes of continuous scavenging, Abigail felt her eyes turn a shade of rainbow. She was just about to give up when she heard her mother’s chirpy voice.
“Oh, Abby, look. This dress is beautiful. You must try it on.” Though at that moment she hated her mother for picking the only dress she was sure had a low back, she couldn’t help but agree with the beauty of it.
The navy-blue bodice that wrapped tightly around the waist was sure to showcase her hourglass figure. And the high-low hemline was sure to show off her toned legs. However, the deep slit that carried down the spine of the dress turned an otherwise beautiful piece of clothing into an open audition for judgment.
She shifted from one foot to another, not sure how she’d convince Mike this wasn’t the dress for her.
“I’m not sure,” she said, trying first with her mother. “Don’t you think it’s too revealing?”
“Oh, Abigail, please. Niall, Mike come here!” she shouted across the store.
“Mom, the wedding’s in the winter.”
Mrs. Sinclair shook her daughter’s concerns off. “So, what? Wear a coat. Boys, what do you think of this dress? Beautiful, huh?”
“Woah. It’s stunning.” Mike touched the fabric, chafing it between his fingers. “I think we might’ve found the dress. What do you think, Babe?”
Niall kissed him sweetly on the lips. “I think so, too.”
“Abbs, go try it on.”
“Mike…” she warned.
Should she be selfish and put her foot down? Add yet another stress-induced knot in Mike’s back?
The word “no” crept on the tip of her tongue but daren’t come out. Mike had been planning his wedding for as long as she could remember. She’d seen how stressed their mother had made him when they were looking for a venue. As she searched her brother’s pleading eyes, she couldn’t find a good enough reason to crush his dream wedding.
With a defeated sigh, she took the dress from her mother’s arms and went into the dressing room. She’d try it on, snap a picture, and show that to her family. No way would she twirl in a circular pedestal for them to see it.
If they gave their final approval, she’d have no other choice but to wear the dress and beg Master Trice not to stain her body with passion. It was a task she knew he’d fail purposely.
It really was a superb dress that flowed to the movements of her legs. Her boobs didn’t topple over, and the hemline wasn’t too short or too long, either. From the front, she looked like a beautiful Maid of Honor. As she turned her back to the mirror, a palette of purples, yellows, and greens loomed over her shoulders and spine.
Mike knocked on the door. “Abbs, come on. We wanna see it, too.”
The door ajar, she called for Mike to enter the changing room.
“Stand up. Let me see it,” he said as his eyes roamed her body.
“I will but there’s something I need to tell you first.” She patted the empty space on the bench for Mike to join her.
His hands covered his mouth. “Oh, my God. You’re fucking pregnant!”
“What the fuck? No! Stop saying that and shut up before Mom hears.”
“What happened then? What’s with all the secrecy?”
“Okay, so um…” It wasn’t easy for her to say the words. Knowing she broke the NDA didn’t make this any easier.
How could she explain to an incurable romantic she liked to be treated like trash by her partner? How could she explain to a BDSM virgin receiving pain made her feel whole?
“Abbs, come on. We still have to find a dress for Mom and Mrs. Nolan.”
“Do you know what BDSM is?”
“Like Fifty Shades of Grey?” he asked.
“Not really, but that’s a start. The SM part stands for sadomasochism. It’s when people get pleasure from either inflicting or receiving psychological or physical pain like being humiliated in front of a crowd or being flogged and tied up.” Although Mike’s face contorted in horror, Abigail continued, “Preston and I are part of that community.”
“Very funny, Abbs. Now come on, stand up.”
She stood and twirled in place. It was the only way he’d believe her. When she heard the loud gasp and curse that slipped from his lips, she knew he’d gotten it.
“Now you understand?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He reached to touch her back but recoiled as his eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Abby…”
“No, no. I’m okay. I promise, Mike.” She wiped his tears. “I’m okay.”
“How? How can you be okay?” His ass dropped onto the bench.
She squatted before him. “Because I like it when he hits me. It turns me on when he tells me I’m a whore. I can’t…” She gave a sigh and whispered, “I can’t orgasm unless he hurts me in some kind of way.” She shrugged unapologetically. It felt good to say it aloud without the fear of judgment because the only opinion that mattered was Preston’s and he accepted her just as she was and understood her as no one else had.
Abigail hoped the silence offered Mike the time he needed to process his thoughts. His eyes slowly pieced together moments of the past.
“Is this why you sometimes dress like a nun?”
She nodded.
A small smile began to form on his lips. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were a closeted whore.”
“Do you think I’m psychotic?”
He kissed her forehead. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I like it in the ass. You like it with whips and chains. Whatever feeds your poison.”
“That’s not how the saying goes,” she pointed out.
He shrugged. “Does he treat you right?”
“He adores me.”
“Did you tell him, yet?” Mike returned her smile. “I want to talk to him about this.”
“I rather you not. I don’t talk to Niall about your sex life. Neither should you with Preston.”
“Fair enough. But if he ever takes it too far—”
“We won’t ever take it there.”
“Let me finish, Abbs,” he said. “If he ever takes it too far or if you ask him to stop and he doesn’t, promise you’ll tell me?”
Finding it unnecessary to indulge Mike in the details of their agreement, she smiled and promised.
Her shoulders slumped. “I know this is your wedding and I’ll wear the dress if you really want me to, but—”
“We’ll get another dress. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at my own wedding.”
She hugged her brother with all she had because no amount of words could express her gratitude better than a sister’s hug.
He coughed. “You’re choking me. Hmm, I bet you like that, huh?”
They burst into bubbles of laughter. This new knowledge was going to bring some inappropriate inside jokes.
“What’s all the laughing about? I wanna join the party, too!”
Abigail quickly slipped off the dress before getting into her jeans and coat. Dressed in comfort, she opened the door to Niall.
“I don’t think this is your kind of threesome.”
“What happened to the dress?” Mrs. Sinclair asked with droopy eyes.
“I didn’t like it,” said Mike. “It was too revealing. I want everyone to be looking at me, not my hooker sister.”
“Hey!” She swatted his shoulder.
Abigail’s phone went off roughly around the time Mrs. Nolan walked through the door. Abigail welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek. It was a gesture she’d learned from the Bessettes she was fond of.
“I have a doctor’s appointment. I have to go.”
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Nolan asked.
“Yes, I just have to get a shot.”
“Take Carl with you,” her mother suggested.
“What about your dress?”
“Mike can pick one out for me. He knows what I like.” She winked as she walked out the door.
