Chapter 16 #2
Once she’s out of sight, I get to work. Our window of opportunity grows smaller with each passing moment we spend in this place, and I cannot delay us.
The information on the God Men that Bes and Cec need from this club must be important. Life-altering even. And considering I didn’t get anything from Francesca before she left, I’m even more determined to find out what it is.
First, I untie the scarf from around my head first and drop it onto the tufted bench beside me. I won’t be needing it again, and I’m sure it’ll find a much better use in this shop.
I undress quickly, until I’m wearing only my undergarments and the Amulet of Amun. The pendant glints in the candlelight; I completely forgot I was wearing it. I will need to do something about that.
In this state of undress, I glance at the door, where Bes and Cec are also getting changed, I can’t help wondering what Bes looks like without his shirt…
I shake my head. Pull yourself together, Hawkins.
Turning back, my eyes lock on my skinned knee from the Temple of Seti I. After having it bandaged for so long, I’ve been letting it air out since putting on the dress. But it looks truly grotesque: red and brown with a scab slowly forming, and small amber beads of pus as well.
Though it’ll be covered up by the jumpsuit, I don’t want to ruin the outfit either. Rifling through a few drawers, I find some linen strips and gauze tucked behind a sewing kit, and wrap my knee.
With that done, I sift through the array of undergarments Francesca mentioned laid out on the chair beside me.
Every bra is in the same odd, elongated shape.
It must be for the plunging neckline. I pick through them before settling for one that looks about my size.
Removing my own bra and hooking the new one in the front, I twist it around and push my arms through the thick straps.
The cups hold my breasts almost perfectly in place around my bust without being too loose or suffocating. Wonderful.
I then sift through a pile of panty girdles until I find one that should fit.
They’re light nude and lacy on the bottom.
I grimace. I hate these things, but it must be a necessity for this outfit if this is all she left me.
The girdle fits a bit snug—but not too snug—hugging my curves and smoothing them out.
Now, what about the amulet? I run through a few different scenarios in my mind, and the best one is finding a way to attach it to my bra.
Removing the straps from my shoulders again, I bring it around again.
Assessing it quickly, all I can do is loop the chain around the hook and eye closure a few times.
And, once the sink ties are tightened, it should stay in place.
I’ll just try not to dance too much. I normally don’t unless I’ve had a drink or two anyway, but I have no idea what I might need to do to help Bes and Cec obtain the information about the God Men that we came here for.
Moving the bra back into place, I gauge the placement of the amulet. The back of it feels strange against my lower spine, although not uncomfortable. Hopefully it stays that way.
After removing my switchblade from the pocket of my discarded dress and placing it next to my clothes, I step carefully into the silk jumpsuit.
The supple fabric slinks over my hips, until the delicate sleeves rest on my shoulders with little adjustment.
I perch on the edge of the bench to lace my boots back up before getting back to my feet.
The legs flow out enough over the tips of the boots to hide them without actually touching the floor, like Francesca said they would.
I smile softly to myself. This’ll do nicely.
I scratch at my scalp, and remember what she said about needing to take my hair down.
“Oh, right,” I grumble.
Releasing my hair from its tight braid, it lays heavily across my shoulders and trickles down my back in thick waves.
I glance over at the nearby vanity, finding a bristle brush. Not wanting to waste any time on my own pride, I pull it hastily but smoothly through my mane. Hopefully it won’t poof up too much being so close to the sea, though I have very little control over it.
Brushing the entire mob of hair over my right shoulder, I then grab the Bandoline bottle.
It won’t help much, but it can’t hurt. The scent of rose water and jasmine prick my nose as I remove the stopper and apply it liberally to the sections of hair I’m endeavoring to shape.
When it proves to be fairly useless, I reach for the tin of metal pins, positioning them strategically.
I wish Francesca had stayed for this part, at least.
Now, for a little makeup. Luckily, she left out a mascara tin with a small glass of water beside it. Opening the tin, I dip the brush in the water before rubbing it back and forth on the cake mascara, then apply it to my lashes.
Lastly, I pick up the lipstick tube she left behind, which I’m hoping will pair well with the color of the jumpsuit.
I don’t normally wear lipstick, but I will tonight if I want to fit in.
Parting my lips, I apply it, touching it up with a cloth.
I actively ignore the sensation of an extra layer suffocating the sensitive skin on my lips, knowing it’s for the best.
Once I’m finished, I turn in the direction of the closest mirror, tall and thin beside the door to the back room.
I look, well, gorgeous, if I’m being honest. I don’t often think so, because I never care to dress up enough to warrant it. If I can get an outfit like this shipped to the States, though, I might actually wear it.
I turn slightly to the side, my waist smaller than I remember, even without the sink ties pulled back yet.
The top half of the jumpsuit shows enough skin so I won’t be turning too many heads but won’t go completely unnoticed either.
The bottom half flares out along my slightly wider hips, flowing down like a waterfall gently split down the middle.
I just need one of the men to tighten the sink ties.
“You can come out now,” I call out through the door to the back room.
Immediately, it swings open with a rusty squawk.
Bes steps out first, his attention focused on the cufflinks of a tuxedo that fits his frame too well. He’s tamed his hair somehow, his ebony locks tucked safely behind his ears. The way his skin glows in the lamplight, his full lips pressed together in concentration, tightens my chest.
The bowtie around his neck and perfectly-folded pocket square are the same mauve color as my jumpsuit. Like me, his shoes are the ones he came in with, though I guarantee no one will be looking at his feet.
A headiness consumes me as I watch him. Goddamn, he cleans up well.
His gaze has yet to leave his cuffs. “Finally. We need to get go—”
Picking up his head, Bes finally notices me. He pauses mid-step, mouth dropping open slightly.
Despite the pressing silence, he takes a moment to look me over as I did him.
Except he knows I’m watching and he doesn’t care.
His gaze lingers on my face, my chest, my exposed arms, my pinned-back hair.
A heat I can’t help reciprocating ignites behind his dark eyes.
For a moment, I imagine there’s something akin to appreciation there.
Chest heaving slightly, he appears to have forgotten he was in the middle of speaking.
Cec exits the office and pauses. “Why is it so bloody quiet?”
I drop my gaze, thankful he’s once again broken Bes’s hold over me. Like his cousin, Cec is dressed in a tuxedo, with the same complimentary colors, that fits him just as well.
Finding Bes again, I say, “Well don’t stand there with your mouth open like a dead fish, Bes. Will it do?”
Cheeks ruddy, I turn from one side to the other to show him how the jumpsuit looks. I shouldn’t care about his opinion, but, after everything that’s happened, I find more and more that I do care very much what Bes thinks of me.
Straightening his shoulders, he says simply, “You look beautiful.”
Which doesn’t exactly answer my question, but causes my heart to leap traitorously in my chest all the same.
He shakes his head. “But it’s not you.”
A different sort of heat splashes onto my cheeks. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m flattered, put off, or a little of both.
“Isn’t that the point? To be whatever I need in order to help you get the information we came to Civitavecchia for?”
Bes raises an eyebrow. “I suppose you’re right. In that case, yes, it’s perfect.”
I turn around. “I need help with the ties in the back.”
Bes’s measured steps echo inside my ears as he moves in behind me. Standing less than a foot away, I’m more acutely aware of him than I ever have before. My hands practically tingle from his nearness.
Without a word, he grabs the ties at their root, near my waist. Breathing in shallow, trembling breaths, I concentrate on every single movement: the way he grasps the ties, how he loops the fabric across first, the feeling of the silk shifting along my body.
Finally, I suck in a breath as he pulls them tight and finishes tying it off into a bow.
The thicker fabric compresses my ribs; luckily, the amulet hangs just below the ties.
That’s alright, I never much cared for breathing anyway.
I start to turn back around—when he steps closer, our bodies nearly touching.
Oh. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he brushes the tips of his fingers along the back of my neck.
I gasp softly as what I can only describe as a soft electrical current races down my spine and turns my body to liquid.
The only reason I know I’m breathing at all is due to my ribs and stomach pressing against the girdle, and the slight rise and fall of my half-exposed chest.
“Your hair,” he explains in a deep, low voice, pushing the errant strands over my shoulder. They’ll move again on their own in a moment, but the fact that he noticed at all…