This was just for dinner, so probably nothing fancy, right? I grabbed a pair of jeans and a nice looking t-shirt. Plus, my God, I belatedly noticed a note on the back of the walk-in closet door. "More in the dresser," it said. Going to the dresser I found pantyhose and socks and stockings and underwear, and...
I stared in one drawer, blinking. What. Jeremy left another note atop a pair of frilly, lacy red panties. Panties in as much as they would definitely cover me, except they were so lacy and small that they wouldn't actually hide anything. Though obviously I'd wear them with pants, and... they had a matching bra? Yes, I found out as I followed more of the note's directions. The bra hid a bit more, but barely, and it was one of those that would enhance my assets, as it were.
"Wear these," Jeremy had written on the note. "Asher loves red."
"You're a troublemaker," I said aloud, even though Jeremy obviously couldn't hear me. "I will wear them, but not because of that. I'll do it because I feel like it, and nothing more."
Nothing more? Yes. That's what I told myself.
I cleaned up and put on the lingerie, then the jeans, the shirt, and a pair of casual heels that matched the pants. There were regular shoes, but I liked the idea of having a little bit of style. The panties and bra were a part of that, yes, but no one could see those. And sitting at the table, no one would really see the heels, but they made me feel better. Sexier and more confident.
And then the time came. I went downstairs, to the guest house door, opened it, out, and started the short walk to the front door of the main house. Outside, Jeremy was leaning against the wall, toying with his phone.
He tapped some keys, gritted his teeth, tapped some more, then said, "Dammit!"
"What?" I asked, approaching him.
"Oh, nothing. Pacman. I lost. Not that I'm very good in the first place, but I was doing pretty good right there."
I rolled my eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be waiting for me? Was playing games a part of that?" I said, playful.
"Pft. You took so long that I needed to find something to do." He looked me over, spied the heels. "So... did you?"
"Did I what?" I asked. I knew what he meant(the underwear), but I wasn't about to dignify his absurd question with an answer.
"Come on," he said, nodding deliberately at my chest. "Did you?"
"Excuse me, but are you flirting with me?" I asked, feigning contempt.
He laughed. "Right. You did, then. Let's go."
He walked to the door and opened it for me, gesturing for me to go inside. I followed and went, but not quietly.
"I did not!" I said. "How would you know, anyways?"
"I can tell by the way you're acting. And walking around. I can just tell."
"No you can't," I said, turning my nose up at him. "You're just guessing and hoping that I'll tell you."
"If you say so."
"I do say so. Now stop harassing me."
"Ooohhhh." His eyes twinkled and he grinned. "Miss Bigshot now, eh? Nice clothes, lacy, see-thru panties, fancy high heels."
I pushed him lightly. "Shut up."
He laughed. "Anyways, it's this way. Come on."
He brought me to a room the size of a basketball court. Inside, taking up most of the space, was a huge dining hall table. It looked like something that belonged in a castle, preferably owned by royalty but a major duke and duchess would do, too. Dark mahogany legs peeked out from beneath a cream-colored, silken tablecloth. I gaped at it in awe.
I stopped moving. Jeremy poked me in the shoulder a few times to prod me on, but I was still somewhat in shock. Giving up on social etiquette, he grabbed my arm and pulled me onwards to my spot at the table. Despite it being so large and taking up most of the room, only a few places were set at the far end of the table. Jeremy pulled out my chair, dumped me in it, pushed it in, and then grumbled.
"You're a huge pain, you know that," he said.
"Shh," I said. "I'm admiring the table."
"Right. Well, I'm leaving."
I must have looked like an idiot, but I didn't care. I pulled at the table cloth, toying with it between my fingers. It felt so smooth and delicate, but strong, too. At my parent's house, whenever we had Thanksgiving, they put out a previously fancy tablecloth, but it was nothing like this. Tattered around the edges and with faded remnants of past spills soaked into it, it made the rickety table look nicer, but almost anything would. This table probably didn't need a tablecloth to look nice, but it looked extravagant and amazing with one.
A woman entered the dining hall from a door on the opposite wall from where Jeremy and I came in. She wore a velvety formal dress with a dark chiffon overlay and looked ready to attend a ball. Her high heels tapped a martial cadence across the buffed wood floor as she made her way towards the table and me. She stared at me for a moment before clearing her throat loudly.
I thought she meant to say something, perhaps introduce herself, but she didn't. A man came out of nowhere, rushed to the chair in front of her, and pulled it out. She flashed him a fake smile, lowered herself into the chair, and allowed him to push it in behind her.
"You," she said once seated, "are, I assume, Jessika. I have heard about you from Asher."
"Yes," I said. "Everything you heard was good, I hope."
I laughed. She didn't.
"I am Beatrice," she said, giving me a strange look, presumably for laughing. "Asher's wife. I've heard what I need to know about you, though I don't care much about hearing more. You understand our situation, and that is enough. Asher desires children, to which I can't begrudge him that. Unfortunately I can't provide him with any, as you should be well aware. I am reluctant to acquiesce to any formal agreement between you, him, and I without first discussing the matter in more detail, though."
As she sat there, talking, I noticed something odd. Nothing about her in particular, besides her favored formality for this particular situation, nor about her clothes, that seemed far more proper than necessary for a casual dinner, but there was a smell. Not a bad smell, not at all. Actually a very nice one. Feminine and sweet, thick like chilled caramel, with a faint hint of oranges and cinnamon, vanilla and... something else. I thought I recognized it, but I wasn't sure from where.
"You aren't dull, are you? I mean that in a nice way, so please don't take offense. You do have intelligence, correct?"
A perfume shop, I guessed. Or something like that. I must have smelled it when I walked through some store that was showing off a new type of perfume. Likely one that was too expensive for me, especially if Beatrice was the one wearing it, so I probably hadn't given it any further thought until just now. That made sense.
My thinking didn't help me to sway Beatrice against thinking I was an idiot.
"Well?" she asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I was distracted, I..."
"This isn't a point in your favor," she said. "Does ADD run in your family?"
"Um, no."
"Do you have a history of debilitating diseases?" she asked.
"I graduated with a BA in English Language and Literature," I said, trying to ignore her. "I received good grades."
"Not a very valuable degree," she said, speaking more to herself than me. "I'm not a fan of creative sorts. Asher loves novels, but I don't see the point. You don't gain much from them."
"I disagree," I said. "You can..."
"What?" she interrupted.
"I mean no offense, but I politely disagree that you don't gain much from them."
"It wasn't," she said, "a point of contention. There is no disagreement, but merely absolute facts. Fortunately Asher has good enough sense to manage his business life admirably, so he can afford to waste some time with frivolous entertainment like reading fiction, but..."
"Beatrice," Asher said from behind me. He walked into the dining hall wearing a pair of khaki slacks and a casual, button-down shirt. "Jessika is our guest. Let's try to at least give her a little time to get comfortable before bombarding her with questions."
"Asher!" Beatrice said. She lit up, smiling, except I felt like it wasn't real. Some ruse, a falsity, fake smile, fake happiness. "Come, give me a kiss. I've missed you."
He walked over to her side of the table, smiling. He didn't look happy, either, but not necessarily faking it. Just distracted? Confused? I wasn't sure.
He kissed her on the cheek and she pulled him in closer. Their lips touched and I watched it. Nothing more, no passion, but lingering, still kissing, right in front of me. I realized I was grinding my teeth and furrowing my brow. Before they stopped, before they could see me, I forced myself to loosen my jaw and relax my eyebrows.
"I'm glad you could come, Jessika," Asher said after he stepped away from Beatrice. He sat at the head of the table, between me and her and to my right. "I'm sure Beatrice and I both have a lot of questions for you, but let's enjoy ourselves first. I think that's best." To Beatrice, he added, "I've been getting to know Jessika over the past few days, and I really think you'll like her."
"Is she another of your pet projects?" Beatrice asked, acting like I wasn't even in the room. "I understand you want to help people, Asher. I really do. But you aren't actually helping them. By doing this and giving them things, you're making them reliant on you. If you give a man a fish, he eats for a day, and if you..."
He interrupted her rather firmly. "Thankfully we're not having fish for dinner."
"Asher," Beatrice said, frowning at him.
"We can talk about this later," he said.
I sat there, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable than I could remember ever feeling while waiting for dinner to be served. I'd accompanied a friend to her weird uncle's birthday party once and sat at the table while listening to a horrible retelling of the time he'd taken Viagra and hadn't been able to orgasm. Even with p*rn and baby oil, he'd said, and lots of masturb**ion after a couple hours of hav**g s*x with my friend's aunt. And then, subsequently, he needed to go to the hospital, where he'd embarrassed multiple nurses and baffled the doctors. He sounded so proud of this story, but for me it was one of the most awkward moments of my life.
Or it was, until now, with Asher's wife in their home. Not the same kind of awkwardness, but I really didn't enjoy her formal, cold, and callous way of treating me like a peasant.
"So," Asher said. "How was everyone's day?"
"Exhausting," Beatrice said immediately. "The flight was horrendous. They ran out of hot towels in first class and I had a headache the entire way."
"Mine was alright," I added quietly.
This wasn't going well. Why was I here? I should leave, I thought. What could anyone do if I did? Yes, I would say, I need to go. I apologize, but I don't think I can do this. I would say that, stand up, excuse myself, and then leave.
Except, just as soon as I'd almost convinced myself of actually doing it, Asher looked at me. He smiled, genuine. No unhappiness, no distraction. Not confused in the least. He looked at me while Beatrice talked about her trip and the sights she'd seen and what her friends thought of this and that. He smiled at me with what seemed like unadulterated interest and excitement. With his eyes twinkling at me, I couldn't help but smile back at him.