Enamored by Shoshanna Evers Page B

their triumphs.
    But last night, Marc had clearly won. The fact that she was standing in half of a dress, spending his money at his command, proved it.
    “Knock, knock,” Charlotte sang again, and came in with plain white linen, which she quickly pinned to the back of the dress. With the linen in place, she stepped back, so Lauren could see what she looked like.
    “Demure, yet beautiful,” Tiff said. “We’ll take it.”
    “You’ll have to take two, as you know,” Charlotte smiled.
    “Ring ’em up,” Lauren said. “Don’t even tell me the price. I’ll faint.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” she replied. Ma’am. Lauren loved hearing that, even from a saleslady. Would she ever be able to give up hearing that, for a chance to be with Marc?
    “Just for a week,” she whispered to herself in the mirror.
    “Pardon?” Charlotte asked.
    “Nothing.”
    Tiff helped her out of the dress, and Lauren flashed her her naked breasts with a smirk. “You must be enjoying this part of your job.”
    “If you were anyone else, I’d tell you not to flatter yourself,” Tiff said. “But it’s you, so . . . um, yeah. Hell yeah.”
    They giggled and Lauren quickly pulled her own clothing back on. High-waisted dark jeans and low-cut black tank top and boots.
    “I suppose we need shoes now,” Lauren said as they went back out front. She tried to sign the AmEx slip without looking at the numbers, though she couldn’t help but notice her assumption that the two dresses would cost thousands had been an underestimation, to say the least.
    “That includes the tailoring and state and local taxes,” Charlotte said, clearly noticing her raised eyebrows.
    Lauren shrugged in a way she hoped appeared nonchalant. “Hopefully Mr. Wilde drank a lot of coffee this morning, then.”
    “May I make a suggestion?” Charlotte asked as they were walking out the door to hunt down some shoes. “Don’t try to match the blue with the shoes. Go silver, or go nude. No ankle straps because they’ll shorten the look of your legs. Perhaps some open-toed stilettos.”
    Tiff nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.” She pulled out her phone and texted someone. “We have an appointment for a mani-pedi in two hours, so we better find those shoes now.”
    “My nails are already done,” Lauren said, admiring the dark burgundy polish.
    “Your nails scream gothic Domme,” Tiff said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally hot, but tonight you need a French manicure and pedicure. Beautiful but demure, remember?”
    And submissive. Right .

    M arc sat with Roman and Trevor in Trevor’s den, or his “man-cave” as his house manager Adele always referred to it. They still had about an hour before the wedding ceremony and reception, which would take place there, at Trevor’s enormous Westchester estate.
    Outside, the staff had created a beautiful tented reception hall, decorated with more flowers and tiny white lights than Marc had ever seen before, and dozens of round tables with ice-sculpture centerpieces.
    The ceremony would take place at sunset, and the rows of white chairs and floral arrangements, along with hanging Chinese lanterns, created a fairy-tale effect.
    “Elisabeth really outdid herself with all the wedding planning,” Marc said, sipping his scotch on the rocks. “The place looks amazing.”
    “Guests are already arriving,” Trevor said, a hint of nervousness in his usually commanding voice. “Should I be out there?”
    “Nah, we’re already in our penguin suits, and you’re not supposed to see the bride in her dress anyway. Adele won’t let you be late to your own wedding.”
    “No, she’s running this wedding like it’s the Olympics. She and Elisabeth have been planning this for months. Now the girls are upstairs with Julian getting ready,” Trevor said with a smile.
    Julian, Elisabeth’s on-call hair and makeup stylist, was a genius. Marc thought it was cool of Trevor to let Lauren join the rest of the bridal party