CHPTER 179
ISABELLA
I sank into Charlotte’s jacuzzi, letting the warm water envelop me. The jets pressed against my back as memories of last night with Levi surged unbidden. My eyes fluttered shut, and I had to grip the edge, trembling. I could still feel him beneath me — the way I had climbed him, rocking and dominating, my body craving every inch of him. My clit throbbed just from the memory. Him calling me mistress, his voice — God! It was playing in my head like a song. I could feel his hands on my skin. FUCK! FUCK! Last night had altered my brain chemistry.
Then, almost tenderly, I began to smile, letting my hands brush over myself in thought, imagining kissing him again, holding him again, riding him… until the memory of what had come after — the disaster, the fear, the tears — slammed back into me. My body stiffened, and tears sprung unbidden. I was shaking, heart hammering, fear clawing at me.
“Bella, we don’t have all day,” Charlotte’s voice floated over the jacuzzi — calm but firm. “I… I’ll be done soon,” I stammered, my hands fumbling with the new, honey-scented soap she had given me. She had also left a new brush, towels, everything to make me feel comfortable — a small, careful curation that spoke of her attention to me, maybe as a way to make up for past betrayals. I loved the care. Though not enough to forgive her. “Shit, you’ve got to stop crying!” I muttered to myself as I started to wash up.
I took my time, enjoying the scent, the coolness of the bathroom, staring at the red chandelier above — and for the first time today, I felt something like peace. The memories were still there, but they were dimmer, softened by time, by water, by the intimacy of being cared for.
When I finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around me, Charlotte had arranged four outfits on the bed. Each one screamed elegance and professionalism, yet carried an undercurrent of sexiness and refinement. Two were black, one white, and one red. The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows caught the fabrics, giving them a subtle sheen that made my chest tighten with anticipation.
“I laid out the clothes in order of impact,” she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “You’ll want to start with something that commands attention but doesn’t scream it. Classy and elegant but also a tidbit sexy. Your… tits aren’t exactly subtle like mine.” We both laughed. “So these will do the job — and they better, because these are the only dresses I have here that can suit you. They’re big on me, especially, you know, the cleavage area.”
I glanced down at them, running my fingers over the silk and satin, feeling the weight of Charlotte’s thoughtfulness. “No red,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve had enough of red this week.” “So,” Charlotte said, lifting the crimson garment from the pile with a small flourish, “you can have the black or the white. Choose.” “Black,” I said finally, my voice firmer than I felt. “I’m in mourning.”
She laughed softly, a rich, melodic sound that filled the room and made warmth bloom in my chest. “Mourning what? Did your husband die?” she teased, arching a perfectly shaped brow. “No, but…” I started, unsure how to explain the kind of grief that had nothing to do with death.
“White it is,” she decided suddenly, cutting me off with the confidence of someone who had never doubted her own taste. “This one’s better — now that I see it.”
She lifted the dress delicately and came toward me, holding it against my frame. The fabric — cut just to the knee with a modest short turtleneck and short sleeves — looked deceivingly understated. But when the light caught it, it shimmered faintly, the kind of quiet luxury that whispered money instead of shouting it.
“This material screams expensive — as it should. I got this from the latest collection of Max Mara,” Charlotte said, her tone full of admiration. “Pair this with that diamond necklace and the earrings you came in with, and you’d look like the president’s wife.” She stepped back, tilting her head, already imagining it. “God, I can’t wait to do your makeup and style your hair. I can see the vision — it’s blowing my mind away. I’ve missed this.”
Her eyes glinted with delight, alive with the thrill of transformation. It wasn’t just about fashion; it was about power — how a woman could wrap herself in it, wear it like armor.
“Girl, please,” I teased, chuckling as I caught my reflection in the large mirror opposite us. She was right — I could see the vision. “You’re still so dramatic. White it is.” “Of course it is,” she said with a smirk tugging at her lips. “Some things never change.”
She rolled her eyes, laughing. “And you… still have horrible taste.” “Rude,” I said, pretending to glare, but the laughter broke through before I could keep up the act.
The sound of it — ours — filled the apartment. Light, easy, familiar. For a moment, it was as if nothing had ever gone wrong between us, as if time had folded neatly in on itself.
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