Chapter 48
Madame Elise didn't let them leave Atelier Lumière with just the dress.
"Non, non, non," she clucked, taking Brett's hand in her small, cool one as the consultants carefully re-bagged the French lace gown — the one — in silk. "A dress like this, ma chérie, it demands what is underneath. You cannot wear..." she waved a dismissive hand at Brett's blush slip dress, "...department store cotton on your wedding night."
Brett blushed crimson, his blue eyes darting to Lance, who was leaning against the pink velvet sofa, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Lance," Brett hissed in his soft alto, his pink nails digging into his clutch. "Tell her—"
"She's right," Lance said simply, his voice low and wrecked from watching Brett in four wedding dresses. He stood and came to Brett, his hand sliding to the small of Brett's back, his thumb stroking over the silk. "If I'm going to be the one taking it off..."
Brett's breath hitched. The whole salon heard it.
Nico cackled. "Downstairs. Third floor. La Perla private suite. I already called ahead."
The lingerie salon was nothing like Victoria's Secret. It was all ivory marble and soft gold light, glass cases that looked like museum displays, and mannequins wearing things that cost more than Brett's first car.
A consultant named Sophie — French, impossibly chic, maybe thirty — greeted them with a knowing smile and a tape measure around her neck.
"For the bride," she said, her eyes sweeping Brett from his honey blonde ponytail to his So Kates. "We build the foundation first."
Brett was led behind a blush velvet curtain to a raised fitting room with three-way mirrors, while Lance was settled in a cream armchair just outside with espresso and a perfect view — a gentleman's privilege.
The first set Sophie brought out made Brett gasp.
It was pure white French lace, so delicate it looked like frost — a balconette bra that lifted and shaped Brett's D cup breasts into perfect, high rounds, with matching high-waisted panties that sat at his impossibly small 23-inch waist, sheer panels over the hips, and a garter belt with six satin straps.
"It's got the tuck panel built in," Sophie murmured, helping Brett step into it, her hands professional and quick as she fastened the tiny hooks. "And the boning in the bra, see? It gives you the shape under the lace dress without a corset."
Brett stepped out from behind the curtain, his hands fluttering nervously over his stomach, over the lace that barely covered anything, his long legs bare, his cheeks on fire.
Lance set his espresso down very slowly.
"Holy fuck," he breathed, his blue eyes dark, raking over the white lace against Brett's pale skin, over the way the garter straps cut into his thighs, over the swell of his breasts. "Brielle."
Brett turned, his ponytail swinging, and saw himself in the mirror — not Brett in lingerie, but a bride in lingerie. The set was bridal, pure, virginal, and yet obscenely sexy at the same time.
"Next," Sophie said, unfazed.
Set two was a full bustier — ivory silk satin, boned like a corset, lacing up the back with white satin ribbon, pushing Brett's waist in even further, making his breasts spill over the top like cream. It came with a matching thong and thigh-high stockings with lace tops that matched the wedding dress exactly.
When Sophie laced Brett into it, he couldn't breathe — not from the tightness, but from the way Lance was looking at him from the chair, his hands fisted on his knees.
"That's for under the mermaid," Nico called out, filming. "So you can actually sit down at dinner."
Set three was the one that broke Brett.
It was a sheer white bodysuit — all Chantilly lace and illusion mesh, long sleeves, high neck, just like the wedding dress, with a deep open back and snaps at the crotch for "practicality," Sophie said with a wink. It hugged every inch of Brett's 129-pound frame, showing every curve, every line, the tuck panel invisible under the lace.
Brett walked out in it and started crying — again.
"I feel..." he whispered, his hands shaking as he touched the lace over his breasts, over his flat stomach. "I feel like I'm already on our wedding night, Lance."
Lance was on his feet before Brett finished the sentence, crossing to him in two strides, his hands hovering over Brett's waist, not quite touching the sacred lace.
"You are so beautiful it hurts," Lance murmured, his forehead pressed to Brett's, his voice breaking. "I'm going to spend the whole ceremony thinking about what's under that dress."
Set four was pure fantasy — a white silk and marabou feather robe that barely closed over a matching lace bra and tap panties, with a white satin garter and seamed stockings. It was old Hollywood, it was burlesque, it was for the hotel suite after.
Brett twirled in it, the feathers floating, and Lance actually groaned out loud.
Set five was simple. The simplest of all. A plain white silk chemise, thin as water, that fell to mid-thigh, with tiny spaghetti straps and lace trim at the hem. No boning, no push-up, no garter. Just Brett, soft and real and vulnerable.
He came out in it barefoot, his hair down, no makeup except the tears on his cheeks, and Lance's entire face crumpled.
"That one," Lance said hoarsely, his hand finally, reverently, touching Brett's waist through the silk. "That one is for the morning after. When it's just us."
Sophie wrapped all five sets in tissue and black boxes, each one tied with white satin ribbon, and handed the bags to Lance like they contained crown jewels.
Because they did.
Brett left La Perla in his blush slip dress, carrying a secret under it — the white lace balconette and high-waisted panties from set one, the garter straps whispering against his thighs with every step in his heels.
Lance didn't let go of his hand the entire way down in the elevator.
"You know," Brett whispered, leaning into Lance's side, his voice shy and wrecked and happy, "Madame Elise was right. The dress needed the right foundation."
Lance looked down at him, his eyes dark with promise.
"Wait until I see you in it," he murmured against Brett's ear. "On our wedding night. In our bed. With nothing else on but that lace."
Brett shivered, his whole body lighting up, the garter clips digging in just enough to remind him.
He was a bride now. In every way that mattered….