Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The last week or so had crawled by. Each morning, Debra had woken up determined to put it behind her and move forward, but by the time she reached the evening, her mind looped through the same reel of moments.
The stillness of the fitting room, the way Billie had looked at her one day and avoided her eyes the next.
The tilt of her head, the sound of her voice, the words Billie had spoken about how Debra should see herself.
Every night, Debra told herself to forget.
And every night, she failed.
When the message came through with a date for her suit fitting, she’d quickly replied, confirming her appointment.
She’d convinced herself that she was going there because she’d paid for the suit, that it would be silly not to, but that wasn’t the truth, and she knew it.
Deep down, she wanted answers. Closure in some way.
Or some shape of either that would help her to breathe again.
By the time she’d reached Savile Row, her heart was steady, but her palms were clammy. The bell chimed as she stepped inside, and that same scent, that same soft music, and that same quiet hit her.
Billie stood behind the counter, her back straight and immaculately poised, adjusting a garment bag.
“Ms Allen,” she said without the faintest tremor. “Good afternoon.”
“Afternoon.” Debra kept her tone in check, aware that she had already given this woman too much of herself. Then came the pause between them. It stretched, likely polite to Billie but unbearable for Debra.
Billie gestured towards the back. “Shall we?”
Debra followed her down the corridor, her pulse picking up ever so slightly.
She’d imagined this moment in a dozen different ways since she was practically dismissed by Billie last week—the possibility of a smile, perhaps the warmth in her eyes returning—but none of them had prepared her for this version of Billie.
Calm, still distant, and almost too composed to be real.
As she slipped behind the curtain and removed her coat, she eyed the charcoal suit that hung on a brass rail.
It was beautiful, elegant and potentially too much for Debra to dare contemplate wearing, but she wouldn’t tell Billie that.
Her vulnerability was already balancing precariously on a knife-edge.
“I’ll leave you for a moment to undress. You can leave your blouse on but change into the pants, and I’ll help you into the jacket once you’re ready.”
Debra watched Billie leave, her perfume lingering in the small space. She quickly changed, feeling Billie’s presence just beyond the velvet curtain, her mind racing with all the possible scenarios that could happen once she stepped back inside. “Ready.”
Billie entered the fitting room again with a smile. “We’ll start with this.” She lifted the jacket from its hanger and turned to Debra. “Let me know if anything feels tight through the shoulders.”
Debra slipped her arms into the sleeves, enjoying how the fabric sat against her. Then Billie brushed her shoulders to settle the seams, and Debra shivered. The contact was brief, but God, it was electrifying.
“You’ve lost weight since the last time you were here. I can take this in slightly if you’d prefer a closer fit.”
Debra hated to admit it to herself, but she hadn’t found much of an appetite this week. She was too busy worrying about the impression she’d left on Billie. After all, she must have done something wrong. “Whatever you think is best.”
Billie nodded, then stepped closer, her fingers skimming down the line of the jacket to smooth the lapel. “Turn to the mirror for me.”
When Debra did so, their eyes met in the glass. She almost managed a smile, caught between wanting to hold her gaze and wanting to flee it, and then the brief idea of turning her head and kissing Billie infiltrated her thoughts. God, she had to get a grip.
“Lift your chin,” Billie said softly. “That’s better. See? The suit holds you differently when you remember your posture.”
Debra tried to focus on her reflection, but the scent of Billie’s perfume and the heat of her presence made it impossible. “You sound like a teacher.”
Billie smiled, melting Debra all over again. “It’s what I do.”
“Do you ever let anyone show you how to see yourself?”
For the first time, Billie faltered. Her hands stilled where they rested against Debra’s shoulders. “No. I don’t.”
“Maybe you should.” Something settled inside Debra as she held Billie’s gaze. Pity…maybe longing.
Billie stepped back and cleared her throat. “The cut sits beautifully on you.” She moved behind Debra again, checking the fit across her back and the line of her sleeve. “Clothing teaches you how to hold yourself. How to remember you’re still here.”
“I see.” Debra met Billie’s eyes in the mirror again. “You’re very good at your job.”
“Thank you.” The tape measure stilled in Billie’s hands. “This tone pulls the light towards you. It brings your eyes forward. You wear it well.”
Debra smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.”
“That’s my job.”
Debra wasn’t sure anyone was this committed to their job. “It’s more than that.”
Billie looked away. “Maybe once.”
The silence settled again, broken only by the sound of the bell jingling outside on the main floor.
“Turn for me and hop up onto the platform. Let’s check the hem of the jacket and the pants.”
As Debra stepped onto the platform, Billie crouched to adjust the length, her fingers brushing the fabric near Debra’s ankles. The touch sent an exquisite heat spiralling through her. She stared down at Billie, watching her work her magic, and wondered if Billie could feel her trembling.
When Billie stood up, their eyes locked again. Before Debra had time to think, she said, “It was me, wasn’t it?”
Billie frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“Those things you said to me, about seeing myself and being enough…” Debra scoffed and shook her head. “It’s all lies, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s not, and you didn’t expect someone like me to walk through your door. You thought I was like the others.”
Billie’s jaw clenched. “No, it’s not lies.”
“Mm.”
The silence that followed made Debra’s heart ache.
Billie looked down for a moment, then back up, her eyes softer as she said, “I don’t tell women what they want to hear for the sake of it, Debra.
I tell them what they need to believe about themselves.
Sometimes that’s the same thing. Sometimes it isn’t. ”
“And me?”
Billie paused. “You were nothing like the others.”
“I understand perfectly.” Debra turned back to the mirror and gave herself the once-over.
“You expect women who just want to get off and have a little fun. Women who want some sordid affair while their husbands are making money in their fancy offices throughout London. But then I walked in…complicated and messy, and you realised you didn’t want to handle that. ”
“That’s not true.” Billie’s hands slipped behind her back, her posture hinting at her trying to hold it together. “But this isn’t the kind of thing you need. You’re nothing like the women who come here. This…the way we’re working right now…it’s safer that way.”
“For you?”
“For both of us.”
Debra let out a shaky laugh. “You make women feel seen, and then you pull away the second they start believing you.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe not, but you did.” With emotion lodged in her throat, Debra cast her gaze to the floor and sighed. “Can I change now please?”
“Of course.” Billie lifted a hand and stepped back. “The suit fits you well. You can collect it next week after some final adjustments.”
Debra studied Billie’s face. The stillness and the restraint…the faint tremor in her throat. The cracks were still there, but she couldn’t tell if it was guilt this time around.
“Thank you,” she said finally, unable to trust herself with anything more dangerous.
Billie nodded once. “You’re welcome.”
As Billie pulled the curtain back, about to step out, Debra watched her through the mirror.
“You know, you make it very hard to forget you. Perhaps you should remember that the next time you take what you want from someone in here and then treat them as nothing more than a customer the next time they walk in.”
Billie’s lips parted, but nothing came. Still, her eyes gave her away. Conflicted, and entirely human. “Thank you for shopping with us, Ms Allen. I’ll have my assistant contact you next week.”
You’re losing it.
Billie sat behind her desk, the quiet pressing down on her like a lead weight. Debra’s scent remained all around her, the hint of pain in her voice unbearable if Billie allowed her mind to wander. It had only been twenty minutes since Debra had walked out of the place, but it felt like hours.
This…wasn’t ideal. She couldn’t handle it.
She should have felt relieved. Her boundaries had been re-established, and her routine was restored. That was what she was supposed to want. The calm order she’d built her life around and the clear rules. Safety. Instead, she just felt restless.
She tapped her pen against the desk and sighed.
Every line on the supplier invoice blurred into one another, and every number dissolved into nothing.
All she could see was Debra and the way she’d looked at Billie.
Direct and unflinching, hurt but still somehow composed…
the way she’d said, ‘It was me, wasn’t it?
’ as though she already knew the answer.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Women came and went, they always did, but none of them had left her like this. None of them had left Billie feeling overly aware of herself in a way that felt dangerously alive.
She leaned back in her chair and exhaled a deep breath. She’d spent years training her body to respond to pressure. Make a list and solve a problem, then regain control. So why did every breath she took feel shallow? Why was every thought too loud?