Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (97 page)

She squeezed on her...as hard as possible.

The dress
had
to fit.

Taddy zipped her up...as far as she could.

The dress didn’t fit.

“Harder! Suck in harder!” Taddy shouted in her ear.

She’d arrived with Lex to the West Side Studios three hours before. They’d shared the same limo. After eighty minutes of coloring Lex’s honey locks with guru extraordinaire Nackie, another sixty in makeup with dark-circle miracle worker Christopher, and the remainder of time spent getting every curve of her body stuffed into shapewear to make her shapeless, Lex should’ve been suited up by then...Lights. Camera. Action.

But no, the glam squad wasn’t working to her advantage. It seemed impossible to try and get the right picture for
The Manhattanite Times
. At the rate they were going, there’d be no photos.

“Stop, you’re hurting me.” Lex empathized with every bride who had gone through this in the past. The whole process was really quiet silly when she thought about it. A non-virgin, twenty-nine-year-old woman, walking down the aisle to marry the man who’d already fathered her child. She questioned why she was even doing it. The notion of grabbing her fiancé, jumping in a cab, and going to the courthouse to get hitched seemed more practical to who she was.

The wedding wasn’t for her, Massimo or their six-month-old son, but for her rock-n-roll iconic mother, Birdie Easton.

“Shut up, Lex,” Taddy hissed, foaming at the mouth. Her Harry Winston chandelier earrings, the ones Lex bought her for her birthday, swung and jingled with every exerted effort.

“Taddy. You’re smashing my tits.” Her breasts were like her waist, which was taking shape after her ass. No part of her wanted to fit into the gown she’d designed for her own wedding. Shit, even the pave-encrusted platform heels Stuart Weitzman had custom-made for her feet were suddenly too small.

“When did your boobs…get so Scarlett Johansson-ish?”

“They’re full of milk.” She thought she had pumped, but come to think of it, she hadn’t. Her day had been booked with Easton Essentials showroom work, a newborn baby who required a diaper change more times than she cared to think about, and then there’d been the wedding preparations. Not just any wedding, but New York’s celebrity-centric, ‘posh to the max’ extravaganza of the decade.

Crap. She needed a nanny, but Massimo, her fiancé, wouldn’t hear of it.

“Hold it. Stop breathing. Let’s try one more time.”

“Ouch.” The clasp caught a piece of her skin, the inch or two which refused to tuck in.

“I almost have…the zipper…up.” Taddy seemed to forget the garment was attached to her. “Come on, you darn bodice. Work with me here.” She talked directly to the champagne organza.

“It’s too tight…” Lex stepped back.
Don’t scream, don’t cry
.
“Let’s call this quits. I don’t think I can take any more.”

“We need the photos. Not just for your personal memories, but for the marketing campaign. Hello,” Taddy reminded, the wedding having been turned into a publicity event for Easton Essentials’ new bridal collection.

The minute the wedding was announced, Lex went into entrepreneurial mode and launched a new line of bridal wear for Easton Essentials called Easton Weds. Not very original, but
Bridal
magazine had declared it the next Vera Wang.

With her runway-ready designs being a hit, the much-anticipated bridal debut focused on creamy whites, floral brocades, and flirty silhouettes. It was supposed to be timeless, thoughtful, and hugging her body just right. The forty-piece line was carried in over three thousand bridal boutiques across the country. Sales exceeded all projections, but the stores required more images of Lex for collateral support.

“We could hire body doubles. Or use other models. I’m getting sick of seeing your face in all the ads, anyways,” Taddy joked.

Chubby as a child, Lex had shied away from the spotlight as an adult. Once Massimo fell in love with her, she’d experienced a level of self-confidence as never before. She learned to love her body and herself. Her face was on the label, the billboards in Times Square, and on every magazine cover from New York to Dubai. Their bestselling dress sizes were double digits. Consumers loved Lex’s curves.

“Ha!” Lex felt an urge to kick her but knew Taddy meant well. She always did. “It was your idea to put my face on this label. I wanted to stay behind the scenes, remember?” For the first two years of Easton Essentials’ success, no one had ever met Lex. Massimo, who was her fabric supplier at the time, thought she was a man. He was pleasantly mistaken.

“Blah, blah, blah. Humanizing you was genius. The shoppers wanted to see the wizard behind the curtain at Oz and they have. You’ve made millions off the campaign. Correction,
we’ve
made millions.” Taddy crossed her arms and eyed Lex up and down. “We’ll leave the dress open in the back. Minus your ‘cup runneth over’ cleavage, no one will notice.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Vive should be here by now with those clothes pins.”

“Screw that. The Jaws of Life won’t get me in, or out, of my gown. Nothing will help.” Lex couldn’t believe the dress was too small. She’d worked out for months, getting fit to look the part of a princess when she married her real life prince, Massimo Tittoni, royal heir to Isola di Girasoli and CEO of Girasoli Garment Company.

She’d adopted Taddy’s cardio schedule of ninety minutes on the elliptical daily. She’d stuck to Vive’s diet of twelve hundred calories a day—no more, maybe less. And she incorporated Blake’s panache for weights—lift, lift, lift.

As a designer and owner of Easton Essentials, the world’s fastest growing fashion brand, not fitting in her wedding dress was rather a big fuck-up.

“Let’s tease your hair higher. Maybe do some extensions. A Dallas hair-do will make the rest of you appear smaller.”

Taddy was always full of great ideas, but somehow that one hurt Lex’s feelings.

“Fine.”

She waved her hairstylist Nackie over who brushed then sprayed. Lex closed her eyes and tried to breathe through her mouth but caught the taste of what reminded her of rubbing alcohol.

“As soon as we leave here, I’ll call Dr. Fassenbender.” The sounds of Taddy rummaging through her Givenchy satchel became louder. “Come to think of it, I may have one in here.”

“One what?” Lex asked, opening her eyes. There was no time for cosmetic surgery, not even lunchtime liposuction.

“Water pill. He has these kick-ass ones. Your bloat drops overnight.” A little blue capsule appeared in her hand. “Tah-dah. Here, take it.”

“No.” There was one thing Lex learned from her parent’s mistakes: don’t take pills.

“Suit yourself.” Taddy popped the dot onto her tongue. Closing her mouth, she smiled and swallowed.

“Dammit. This can’t be happening.” She shouldn’t have designed a ball gown pattern to wear. What was she thinking?

Elaborate Swarovski crystals scattered throughout the bodice from front to back and a richly textured layering of the full skirt gave her the fairytale she’d always envisioned. But she’d have to take the zipper out and make a corset back. God, she didn’t want to do that.

“My darlings, forget the dress!” shouted the photographer, Jemma Fereti, as she moved Nackie back to the sidelines. Jemma had been flown in from Milan at Taddy’s request to capture the pre-wedding photos of Lex and Massimo. “Taddy has a good idea. We’ll focus on head shots of you wearing the crown of Tittoni and the veil. I want you
nudo
.”

“Naked?” Lex gasped.

Known as Europe’s top fashion model turned co-designer at Girasoli and photographer, Jemma caught erotic femininity on film. She had wanted Lex in her birthday suit from the start of the shoot.

She stalked over to Lex and held out her hands. “I get that you’re frustrated. But I’m not here to shoot fashion. I’m here to get on my camera those beautiful jewel-toned eyes, those full lips, and the look of happiness you have when you think of Prince Tittoni.”

Such a smooth talker
. “It’s been six months since I had the baby, Jemma. The weight should be off by now.” Her eyes stung with tears.

“No crying, Princess. Get out of the gown. We’ll do some abstract photos,
sì
. I promise to capture your real beauty, my darling.” Jemma stepped back and swapped out the camera she held for another with her assistant.

Yeah, lady…real means real fat. I don’t want that. I wanna be glamorous.
“I can’t go nude,” Lex pleaded as she appeared to have already made up her mind. “These photos are not only going to
The Times
, but over to
Vogue
and
Town & Country
. They have to make a statement of class and elegance.”

“Sì,”
she said agreeably.

“These are royal photos.” Her face was going to be blasted on the Easton Weds hangtag labels...and on every major media outlet in the world. Next to Kate Middleton, her wedding week was going to be the paparazzi’s biggest swoon. Millions were projected to follow her, if not in person then on TV, as she made her way down the aisle.

“Lex, she’s the best there is,” Taddy interrupted then lowered her voice to add, “Jemma will get more photos later with other models, otherwise known as Photoshop.”

There was one thing her BFF knew better than anyone else in the world and that was the importance of a good public image. If Taddy said yes then she’d have to go with it. She trusted her; she always had.

“The pics won’t be going anywhere if we don’t have any. Now, get out of that gown and keep the headpiece on.” The dominatrix was coming out in Jemma as she bossed her around. “Go get changed.” She faced her assistant. “Dim the lights.”

I can’t go nude.

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Unsaid
today!
www.AveryAster.com/Unsaid

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Recommended Reading

We hope you enjoyed the MASTERED 2 box set.

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CAPTURED 2
box set which will be coming out soon.

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