Chapter 45 Jules
Jules
Getting dressed turns out to be surprisingly pleasant.
That alone feels strange enough that I pause in front of the wardrobe, one hand still resting on the carved wooden door, just taking it in.
Dresses and outfits hang by length and color.
Shoes are lined up neatly on low shelves.
Everything smells faintly of cedar and something floral I can’t quite place.
Okay, I think. No pressure—let’s just find something comfortable.
I reach for a red dress that immediately feels different from what I’m used to.
It’s light and flowy, made of a soft, crimson fabric that drapes instead of clinging.
It has a gently defined waist that actually sits where my waist is instead of somewhere up near my ribcage like so many plus-sized dresses seem determined to do.
The skirt skims my hips and thighs without pulling and without riding up—and most importantly, without making me feel like I need to suck in my stomach just to exist.
I look at myself in the mirror and smile. I look good. Not “good for a curvy girl.” Just good—feminine, pretty, and comfortable.
I feel good too. Confident and relaxed. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that having so many orgasms from a handsome vampire who seems utterly devoted to me is agreeing with me.
Still, I need to be careful, I tell myself. I still have to go home.
Only…going back to my awful job and my crappy apartment no longer sounds quite so appealing. Yes, the Shadow Realm is scary, but I feel safe and protected by Lucian. And it’s kind of nice to leave the daily grind behind and live in the lap of luxury instead.
Still, I miss my friends in Book Club, I remind myself. I never even got to say goodbye to them and I know Hanna is expecting me to come home with her. Which I’m going to—honestly, I will.
I just have to find a way to do it.
I pair the pretty red dress with a set of walking boots from the lower shelf—they’re made of soft leather with sturdy soles but they’re somehow still elegant.
When I lace them up and glance at my reflection again, I barely recognize myself.
I don’t look like the miserable wage-slave I’ve been all my adult life at all.
Instead a pretty, confident woman stares back at me.
She even has a sparkle in her eye, as though she’s looking forward to the day.
Is this what it feels like to wear clothes designed by someone who actually likes women shaped like me?
I wonder. I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that whoever designs clothes for plus-sized stores like Lane Bryant actually hates curvy women.
Why else would they make the clothes they do—and then expect us to buy them?
The thought sticks with me as I feed Mr. Mittens and then turn toward the door, ready to go find Hanna. But just then, there’s a knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens and Hanna steps inside.
For a second, I just stare.
She looks…radiant. Her crumpled scrubs are gone and she’s wearing an emerald dress that hugs her curves without squeezing them, the fabric falling perfectly over her hips.
The color makes her auburn curls glow, and her green eyes look brighter than usual.
Even her posture seems different—more relaxed, more confident.
“Wow,” I say. “You look amazing.”
She snorts.
“You should talk. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
I grin and do a little twirl so the skirt of my dress flares out.
“You like? The clothes are really nice here.”
“Yes—they gave me several choices and all of them looked good on me,” Hanna gushes. She sighs. “I wish I could take some of them home—they’re nicer than anything I could buy back home.”
“I was just thinking that same thing—shopping as a curvy woman is always such a nightmare,” I say.
“Oh God,” Hanna says. “Don’t remind me.”
“I swear,” I continue, “Every time I go into a plus-sized store, it feels like the designer secretly hates curvy women.”
Hanna laughs.
“Yes! Like, how can we punish them for having hips?”
“Exactly!” I say. “Why do they always think we want crop tops and short sleeves? And ruffles. So many ruffles.”
“The ruffles!” Hanna groans. “Like, this shirt would have been fine if you hadn’t added a flounce the size of a small child to the sleeves.”
“And what is it with weird cutouts?” I add. “Or slogans? I don’t need my shirt to say ‘Curvy and Proud’ in hot pink glitter. I just want it to fit.”
She nods emphatically.
“It’s like whoever designs those clothes thinks we’re either clowns or toddlers.”
I glance down at my dress again, smoothing a hand over the fabric.
“Whoever is designing these clothes… they get it. They actually understand how a curvy body works. Everything I’ve worn since I got here has been flattering without being weird.”
“I haven’t been here long, but same,” Hanna says, nodding. She does a little twirl of her own. “I put this on and didn’t feel like I needed to apologize for my body. Do you think it’s because like you said—they love curvy women here?”
“Could be,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe—
But just then, there’s another knock at the door.
The maid from yesterday—hair neatly pinned, expression polite and attentive—steps inside and dips into a small curtsy.
“If it please you, my Queen,” she says, her accent lilting faintly, “Lord Lucian ‘as instructed me to lead you to the breakfast nook, so ‘e ‘as.”
Hanna’s eyebrows shoot up.
“This place has a breakfast nook?”
I laugh.
“I know, right? I thought the same thing. But apparently it does.”
The maid smiles.
“This way, if you please.”
We follow her into the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpets.
I keep my eyes forward, deliberately not looking at one particular closed door—the one that leads to the dungeon playroom.
I’ve been thinking about how much I enjoy being with Lucian and how I might almost be falling for him…
but I can’t forget that if I stayed, that room would doubtless figure heavily in my future.
The maid leads us into a cozy room that feels more like a private tea parlor than part of a towering gothic fortress. There’s another fireplace here, smaller but cheerful, and a round table set with china and silver.
Golden-red sunlight filters in through the tall windows, softened by sheer curtains.
It looks kind of like sunset but, I know it’s closer to morning.
Maybe it’s just due to the sun here in the Shadow Realm.
Maybe it’s not the same one we have in the Human world—which is really weird to think about, so I push it to the back of my mind.
Hanna and I take our seats just as the maid returns with breakfast.
The scents alone make my stomach growl, and I realize I’m really hungry—the feast with Lucian and the Necro Don last night seems like a long time ago.
The food, as usual, is delicious. There are delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar, their layers flaky and golden…
crispy bacon…soft scrambled eggs folded with cream and herbs.
Thick slices of toasted bread are served in one of those wire toast racks you only see in movies that feature fancy hotels and there is honey and butter and strawberry jam to go with it.
Fresh fruit is arranged artfully on porcelain plates.
And to top it off, a pot of tea is steaming gently alongside coffee so rich it smells like heaven.
“Oh wow,” Hanna murmurs. “This is definitely better than my usual breakfast of hospital cafeteria food.”
I grin.
“High praise from a hospice nurse. Let’s eat.”
We dig in, savoring everything and it feels so nice to be having a meal with my friend.
I can almost forget that we’re both in a strange, magical world that somehow exists outside the limits of reality.
The warmth and normalcy of the moment settles around us like a blanket and the food tastes delicious.
Mr. Mittens, who apparently followed us down the hall, weaves around our legs beneath the table, tail high, purring loudly as if he owns the place now.
“Look at him,” I say dryly. “Apparently he has full run of the Crimson Spires now.”
“He’s definitely adjusted better than I have,” Hanna says, scratching him under the chin as he winds around her ankle, begging for a bite of bacon.
It almost feels like a normal morning. No, better than normal. Normal for me is a few bites of overnight oats and then rushing to work to clock in on time before anyone complains about me being “tardy.” I can’t remember the last time I had such a relaxed, leisurely morning.
It’s really nice.
"So what now?" Hanna asks, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh and patting her stomach. "I mean, what's next on the agenda? Are we going home?"
The question hangs in the warm, fragrant air between us and I don’t know how to answer it.
The breakfast nook is still filled with the scent of buttery pastries and the last hints of rich, roasted coffee. The sunlight slanting through the arched windows paints golden-red pools across the rug, and Mr. Mittens is sprawled in one of them like a spoiled prince.
But something in me twists at the mention of going home.
I think of leaving the Shadow Realm…of walking out of this place forever.
And then I think of Lucian. The way he held me last night, the tenderness in his touch…
the way he looked at me like I was something precious.
The taste of him on my tongue, and the feel of him between my legs…
his mouth on me and his voice commanding me to come for him…
Do I really want to leave all that? Do I want to leave him?
"We are going home, aren't we? Jules? Hello?"
Hanna snaps her fingers under my nose, and I blink, startled out of the trance I'd slipped into.
"I don't know," I admit, folding my hands in my lap. "I haven't been here that long myself. I mainly spent my time trying to escape…and being traumatized by monsters. And then rescued by Lucian."