Reflection (The Chrysalis Series) (14 page)

Chapter Sixteen

‘Why are we here?’ Bridget whispered, trying to draw Claire’s attention, but not that of the other customers in the store.

Claire didn’t appear to hear her. She was flipping through a rounder of bras as if they’d offended her in some fashion. The clink of hangers was enough to make Bridget flinch.

Something was off. Very off. Her friend, usually so open and charming, was so – she struggled to find the right word – so … tense. Like a rubber band pulled tight.

‘Claire?’ Bridget tried again.

Silence.

She didn’t know what had spurred this impromptu shopping trip and she was beginning to feel uneasy.

When Claire had called, Bridget had been all too happy to skip her usual Saturday morning chores. A quick run with Daisy had satisfied the little pocket pit bull terrier and she’d left her happily snoozing while she went to meet her best friend.

She’d expected gossip and fun. Some light-hearted teasing about her upcoming date with Connor. She was getting eggshells and silence.

She’d hoped they’d hang out, window shop, maybe go buy some maternity clothes for Claire now that she was starting to show. Instead they were at Intimate Moments.

Owned by Victor Matthews, a designer who’d made it big in New York only to walk away and come back to his home town, it was River Rock’s answer to both Victoria’s Secret and EdenFantasys.

In addition to exquisite lace and satin creations, many of which were personally designed by Victor, there was the “spice shop”, where latex and neoprene joined satin corsets and other fetish gear. Those items were by request only, though.

In short, if you didn’t know to ask, you didn’t get to buy.

Claire knew to ask. In fact, Bridget had bought her first and only toy from Victor courtesy of Claire.

It had been one of Bridget’s most embarrassing experiences. It didn’t matter that Victor and Evan were friends and Evan gave him a thumbs-up as a great guy. It didn’t matter that she was quite sure Claire had bought much racier stuff from Victor. Bridget had been tomato red from head to toe the whole time she and Claire had been browsing.

Victor had put her at ease with a kind word and some light teasing. She’d liked him at once. Despite his height – he had to be well over six feet tall – he was quite unimposing. Slight of build, though clearly well-muscled, tall and yet stooped in a way that made him seem shorter – he was a contradiction in terms. Right down to his clothing and appearance. He had to spend more time getting ready than Bridget did.

His raven-black locks were always immaculate, as were his clothes. There was never an errant crease or hair out of place.

As stereotypical as it was, Bridget thought he was gay. She’d never seen or even heard a rumour of him dating a woman. Evan was mum on the subject, saying it was Victor’s business and to ask him if she was that curious.

She’d never been that rude. He was a gentle soul and she’d never insult him with such a prying question. She did wonder, though.

After that first trip, they’d become quite friendly. He never made her feel stupid for purchasing simple cotton rather than all the feminine frippery that seemed to be expected of women these days. He always tempted her with promises of custom designs if she’d try something different, but he acquiesced with grace and made her feel just as sexy in cotton as she was sure he did the other patrons of his shop.

When she and Claire had arrived, he’d given them bear hugs before excusing himself. He’d promised to be back for the show, leaving Bridget thoroughly confused when he’d said, ‘And about time too.’

But Claire wasn’t answering any questions. She’d just bolted to the back of store and begun assaulting the bras on the clearance rack.

Well, enough was enough. It was time for some answers.

She slipped the nightgown she’d been considering back on the rack and headed over to Claire.

With her hands on her hips, Bridget said, ‘You gonna tell me what all this is about, darlin’, or shall I leave you to continue abusing the merchandise?’ She waved a hand at the rack in front of Claire. ‘Frankly, I don’t need any of this stuff and you don’t seem to actually be shopping. Come on, sugar. Let’s go get you some maternity clothes. It’ll be fun.’

It was as if she melted. Claire went from strung tighter than a wire on a cinch to boneless and crying in Bridget’s arms. Stunned, Bridget simply held her friend and let her cry. They were wordless sobs that nonetheless shouted with the intensity of her agony. Tears flowed down Bridget’s cheeks in sympathy for the unknown pain her friend was experiencing.

Whatever it was, it ran deep.

After what seemed like an eternity, Claire’s sobs turned to whimpers and finally sniffles and only then did Bridget realise that Victor had joined them and was holding them both.

She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow and he gave a silent shake of his head. Apparently, he had no more idea than she did what was going on.

‘Claire, baby?’ She wiped the tears from Claire’s cheeks. ‘Let’s go sit down, sugar.’

Claire nodded, swiping at her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, guys.’

‘No apologies, sweetheart.’ Victor took her hand and led the way to the back, stopping to lock the door to the shop and turn the sign to “closed” on the way. ‘Let’s just get you some water and then you can tell us what’s going on.’

Victor guided them back to his “showroom” – a small, elegantly appointed space in the back of the store. Sporting a huge, three-way mirror in front of an elevated platform, several comfortable chairs in cream leather, along with a plush sofa in brown suede and a wet bar, it reminded Bridget of a very classy runway. The idea, he’d explained to Bridget the first time she’d been invited back, was that people could use the space privately when they were interested in getting a second opinion on their selections. He also used it for fitting the custom pieces he designed for clients. At least according to Victor, it was a very popular feature of his store.

They flanked Claire on the sofa as if to protect her from some unknown threat. Victor held one hand; Bridget the other. Neither spoke. They simply waited.

Claire quietly wept, staring off into the distance with tears streaking her cheeks. She seemed fragile and small. Not at all the dynamic woman she had grown into over the last year.

‘I lost the baby.’

A chill skittered down Bridget’s spine at her words. So simple a sentence and yet such devastating repercussions.

‘What happened?’ Bridget choked out the words through her own tears.

Pulling her hands back, Claire swiped at her cheeks before clenching them into fists in her lap.

‘They don’t know.’ Her words reverberated with bitterness. ‘They said sometimes these things “just happen”.’ She stabbed the air as she formed the air quotes.

‘Darlin, should you be in bed or something?’ Bridget made to stand, but Claire put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

‘No.’ The crack in her voice could have shelled nuts. ‘I couldn’t spend another minute in bed, bleeding and questioning why. I had to get out.’ Her voice wobbled on the last part.

While Bridget could understand the notion, she was still concerned for her friend’s health. She looked to Victor for support, but he merely shrugged, clearly at a loss. The grief and shock on his face a testament to his care for Claire.

‘Claire –’ Bridget squeezed her hand ‘– I’m not sure that shopping is the way to deal with this.’

Claire snorted. ‘I’m not stupid, Bridg. Evan and I talked all night. I’m sure we’ll talk more. I’ll cry more. I’ll even rage at some point. No –’ she shook her head ‘– this isn’t retail therapy. We’re here for you.’

‘For me?’ Bridget was taken aback. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Yes. You need to get rid of those things you call underwear and embrace your inner sexy. Especially now you and Connor are sleeping together. And –’ she raised an eyebrow at Bridget ‘– don’t give me that look. I’m not off my rocker because of the baby; I’ve wanted to do this for a very long time.’ Her voice was watery, but she was less brittle. Bridget, however, was beginning to fall apart.

‘You never said anything,’ Bridget snapped.

‘I love you, Bridg. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but this seems to go deeper than underwear and I want you to be happy.’

‘But Connor is fine. He hasn’t said anything.’

‘Nor is he going to, Bridg.’ She smirked. ‘Do you really think he’s going to say, “Bridget, as badly as I want into those panties, they are hideous and deflate my dick when I look at them”?’

Victor almost choked trying to hold back a laugh and Bridget shot him a warning look.

Claire continued, ‘No, honey. He’s just going to get you out of them as soon as possible.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with what I wear.’ She barely got the words out as anger, completely out of proportion to the situation, overtook her. ‘Victor, tell her,’ she demanded.

He blanched at being drawn into their argument, but nevertheless leaned forward, a chagrined look on his face, and said, ‘Claire’s right. You are a beautiful, sexy woman and you hide behind all that boring, ugly cotton.’

Shock ran through Bridget at his betrayal. She’d always thought he understood. She began to argue, but he held up a hand to stop her. She bit her lip in frustration.

‘I tell you what.’ He stood up and smoothed his slacks. ‘Try on what I’ve got put aside for you and if you still don’t want it, so be it. If you love it, then you get a slew of sexy lingerie to drive that man wild. OK?’

He held out a hand to her. She stared at it as she struggled inside. She knew she was overreacting, but she didn’t want to do it. Period. And she didn’t appreciate them putting her back up against the wall like this.

This shouldn’t even be an issue. It was none of their damned business in the first place! But what if Connor really was holding back? It’s not as if she’d exactly been flexible. And he really had been going out of his way to accommodate her in so many things. Stirrings of guilt began in her gut.

‘Please, Bridg.’ Claire’s face softened and she grabbed Bridget’s hand. ‘I’m honestly not trying to hurt you. But I don’t like seeing what is obviously a scar from what happened. Besides, what harm is there in wearing something to turn Connor on? He’ll appreciate it.’

Bridget remained rooted in the chair, paralysed with uncertainty.

‘Bridget, look at me.’ Claire’s voice was soft, imploring. Bridget turned to face her and teared up at the concern in her face. ‘You helped me more than you could ever know with Evan. I needed a friend as much as I needed him. Let me be the same kind of friend to you now. You may not like what I’m asking, but please, just try.’

Victor had never moved, his hand still offered. Before she could second-guess herself, she took it.

It was like looking in a fun house mirror. Her, but not her. Even before the rape, Bridget had never worn anything like this. It was as risqué as they came while still providing complete coverage. Emerald green silk and mesh covered her breasts. It was as much a camisole as a bra, with strategic support for her ample cleavage. The design gave the impression of being transparent, when in reality it was not. A shadow of nipple was apparent, but you couldn’t actually see anything.

The panties – also the same deceptive material – were some kind of hybrid between boy shorts and a thong. She’d long ago quit following trends in ladies’ underwear and had no idea what the term for them would be, but they were surprisingly comfortable given the fact that they were clearly up her rear end.

There was more where these came from. Victor had handed her a pile of things to try. There had to be at least 20 sets, in a rainbow of colours.

Examining herself critically, Bridget tried to relax the muscles in her body that were clenched into knots. The problem definitely wasn’t the fit. They melded to her body as if they’d been made especially for her.

No, it was that Bridget didn’t recognise the pin-up girl in front of her. The woman in the mirror belonged in the ranks of Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, and Marlene Dietrich. All of those classic women in satin and lace adored by the masses and tacked on walls around the country. They’d driven a whole generation of men mad with lust.

The thought made her sick. Literally.

Beads of sweat bloomed along her skin. She gripped the wall and did her best to breathe through the anxiety clawing up her chest.

‘Bridget?’ Victor’s voice reached her through the fog. ‘You coming out to show us?’

The Earth would change its orbit before she let them see her this way. No way, no how was she walking out there and putting herself on display.

Pins and needles were spreading across her flesh. She could no longer feel the wall under her palm. She felt lightheaded.

What was wrong with her? Panic choked her. She couldn’t get the words out to tell Victor to go away.

The sounds of a key scraping in the lock echoed in the small dressing room and tears streamed down her cheeks at the knowledge that Victor would discover her this way.

Black dots floated in front of her face and the room began to recede. She was going to pass out.

‘Bridget!’ Victor’s deep voice came to her from far away before strong hands gripped her shoulders and she felt herself enveloped in warmth as he sat on the chair in the corner and tucked her into his lap.

She sobbed into his shoulder. She had no idea why she was responding this way. It was just underwear, for heaven’s sake. But she felt stripped bare and exposed despite being covered in more material than the average bathing suit.

Victor didn’t say anything, just held her as she cried. Eventually, he began stroking her back and murmuring soothing noises.

As she wept, the panic receded. The numbness faded. Even her chest unclenched. Eventually, she was able to draw breath and speak.

‘This is ridiculous. Could I be more foolish?’ Her words were laced with bitterness.

‘Why?’ He seemed genuinely confused by her words.

‘I’m sitting here blubbering like an idiot over nothing more than being dressed in sexy underwear.’

‘Are you sure that’s what this is about?’ He tipped her chin up and began to wipe the tears from her face.