Darcy had let Zoë and Blanche take Susannah and Kate back to their house. She could tell by Susannah’s scowl that it would take a while for her to snap out of her pout, and she didn’t trust herself not to either slap Kate for letting anyone kiss her, or kiss her too just to remind her who she enjoyed kissing.
London was in the midst of its evening rush hour as she headed toward Oxford Street for the next live segment, and her driver was, once again, zipping through with expertise. “How is the baby?”
He beamed into the rear-view mirror. “She’s doing really well, thanks to you.”
She waved it off. The traffic backed up, and she leaned on the windowsill. It was snowing again. That meant people would be camped out in front of their TVs and watching the evening’s episode. It would be the first one since Kate’s declaration. She chewed on her lip. She hadn’t been within feet of Kate since she’d walked out the door. “How is your wife?”
“She’s trying to cope with breastfeeding.” He pulled his mouth to the side. “The nurses all keep telling her she has to, but I keep telling her we can buy milk, that she doesn’t have to do anything.”
“Yes, they can bully.” She tutted. She had fought off their tactics, stuck to formula, and Susannah was healthy and intelligent. “It should be her decision. Not everyone can do it.”
“Is that in your book, Ms Darcy? Because she’s reading it, and she’ll listen to you.” He said it with a cheerful tone, but she could hear the worry in his voice.
“It is. Chapter three, I believe.” She smiled at him as he zipped around a backstreet. “If you want me to talk to her, just ask.”
He smiled. “You’ve done so much already. We wouldn’t have her if it weren’t for you.”
“Nonsense.” She stared out at the crowd of cameras waiting at the department store.
“Never.” He screeched to a halt. “You’re wonderful in our eyes.”
She nodded and got out of the car. Shutters, calls, flashes. She strode in through the doors and over to Marge. “Why are you looking more sour than usual?”
Marge sighed and pulled her over to the side by the elbow. “Kate wants to pull out.” She glanced over at where Kate, Zoë, Blanche, and Susannah were whispering amongst themselves. “Mikey is being bullied after she said that she loves you.” Marge’s gaze turned hard. “Doesn’t help you have ignored her.”
“I didn’t ignore her.” But then, she wasn’t telling Marge about spending the night with Kate. “Who is bullying him?”
“Kids at his school. Headteacher was trying to deal with the bullies, but one of Mikey’s friends told their parents, and they got involved, and there was a fight outside the school gates.” Marge pursed her lips. Her top lip was very…furry. Went with the pipe-cleaner hair. “Kate’s mother has pulled him out of school for now. Mikey has no idea he was being bullied.”
“Better for him.” She nodded to the camera, slamming down the urge to throttle someone. “Kate can’t pull out. Let’s get on with it.”
Marge stared at her, then scowled. “As always, you’re a delight to work with.” She motioned to the cameraman. He eased his camera onto his shoulder, and the red light flicked on.
“As so many of you were keen on seeing Kate turn the tables, here we are, back where we started.” She strolled over to Kate. “And what have you all concocted?”
Zoë flashed a cheeky smile. “We have to do the examination first.” She nodded to the changing room. They always did the examination in the apartment where there was a special changing room and the lighting was less glaring, the mirrors more accurate. The idea was to find body shape, not terrify people.
“Get in the changing room. Time for you to stand around in underwear.” Kate’s hard stare filled with hurt.
“No. Why don’t we pull out a mirror and I will do it here?” Lighting was more flattering outside. The garish lights and funhouse mirror in the changing room would not do. She nodded and one of the crew scurried into the changing room with a screwdriver. “So what are your first thoughts, Kate?”
Kate turned to the camera. “You dress to hide who you are.”
And she was trying to get a rise. “Or accentuate my natural form.”
“No, I’d say you’re hiding.” Kate folded her arms. “And I’m the doctor right now.”
Her laugh exhaled through her nose. “If that makes you feel better, Kate.” She smiled. Yes, her tone was calm and controlled, but Kate’s eyes narrowed.
“It does, Darcy,” Kate snapped as the crew member carried out the mirror. Hopefully the store wouldn’t mind.
Darcy unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off. The crew let out muffled groans, and Kate’s long neck flexed. Yes, she modelled underwear, among many other things. She knew exactly how to unveil herself. “As the camera can see”—she pointed to her breasts—“I am wearing a bra that not only fits but supports.” She flicked the toggle between the cups. “And this marvellous little contraption allows me to have a natural feel.” She tightened the string, and the crew murmured. “Or, as you will hear from my colleagues, create a more voluptuous look.”
Blanche nodded. “Important when you need to create some volume.”
Zoë raised an eyebrow. “You have ample volume.”
Blanche smirked at her.
“By drawing your attention here,” she continued, ignoring Zoë gazing at the twig. “I create a waist and emphasize my long stomach.” She ran a hand over it.
Kate coughed, the crew mumbled, and Marge cocked her head. Susannah, she was peering down at her own stomach like she wondered how to do the same.
“Pilates, darling.” She turned back to the camera. “All this pulls your attention away from my hips, which need careful working around.”
“Your hips are fine.” Kate shook her head. “Why would you need to work around them?”
She looked to Zoë. “Put on your designer hat, please.”
Zoë pulled her mouth to the side. Yes, she was reluctant. She’d personally loved Darcy’s hips, but this was not personal.
“Zoë?” She motioned with her finger.
Zoë sighed and headed over. “They have good shape, but it’s an inch wider than balanced.” She met Darcy’s eyes as if somehow it was a crime to be honest. “You tend to hold water there.”
“Which means?” She rolled her finger in encouragement. Why was she wandering around the obvious?
“We’d call them saddlebags.” Zoë hung her head. “But they really aren’t.”
“No, they aren’t,” Kate snapped. “Load of rubbish.”
“I work hard to ensure that there is maximum drainage from the muscles.” She shook her head at Kate. Was she being angry or defending her? “And do the relevant exercises to counter it when I need to display them to a camera.” She undid her trousers and slid them down. Several members of the crew spluttered out their breath, some wheezed, some groaned. Yes, she did love her high-leg silk underwear. “Quite often, if I am wearing a dress, I have special shorts that pull in my thighs.”
“You don’t need shorts. Your legs are perfect.” Kate marched over and tapped them. “There’s not an inch of fat on them, they’re toned, not to mention I don’t think cellulite has come anywhere near you.”
“I use a treatment.” She chuckled as Susannah folded her arms, looking ready to either tell Kate off for slapping her thigh or her for stripping down to her underwear. “I had stretchmarks from pregnancy that I also had treated.” She smiled at the camera. “The only difference between me and any new mother out there is that I know the right things to use to draw your attention where it needs to be.” She tapped the string on her bra again.
Kate scoffed and turned her around. “This bum is rock hard.”
Zoë nodded. “If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be a lot of use on a billboard.”
“Yeah,” Blanche said, tapping Susannah on the arm and grinning at her. “You do not want droopage when you’re a fifteen-foot image.”
Susannah chuckled. “I thought Photoshop could help that.”
Blanche wagged her finger. “I don’t need any touch-ups.” She thumbed in Darcy’s direction. “And neither does she.” She mouthed “bitch” at her.
Darcy poked out her tongue. Yes, she was. “The line of my lingerie is designed to accentuate the curve under my buttock here and create an effect that the designer knows any man will be riveted to.”
Zoë laughed. “Honey, I am no guy, and right now I want to grab your ass.” She shrugged at Marge, who scowled. “What?”
“Swearing,” Marge mouthed at her.
“Ass?” Zoë rolled her eyes. “The whole bit about me grabbing her…butt…was fine?”
Marge shrugged.
“I would prefer if you don’t,” Susannah muttered and folded her arms. “Mum is not a piece of meat.”
“No, she isn’t.” Kate narrowed her eyes. “I vote for a pair of boxers and a sports bra.”
Zoë howled with laughter. Blanche grinned like she’d enjoy every second, and Susannah nodded in approval. “Thanks, Kate. At least you respect her.” She held up her phone. “Tweet comment. Susannah from Kensington says, ‘put some clothes on, Mum.’” She wagged it at her.
“You call shoving me in men’s clothing respect?” She raised an eyebrow and pulled up her trousers, much to the dislike of the crew, if the moans were anything to go by.
“I call covering you up and showing you that it doesn’t matter what shape you are, you’re a human being who deserves to be talked to not ogled.” Susannah fixed on Blanche. “That goes for you too.”
Kate nodded to her. “Then let’s get you in some proper underwear.”
“Cut and move to adverts.” Marge rubbed at her neck. Her phone rang. She handed it to one of the cameramen. “Tell John I’m busy.”
Kate’s eyes glinted with hurt again. “You’re too good for my ideas?”
Clearly, her comment on men’s clothing had hit a sore spot. “I was not making a reference to you.”
“Yes, you were.” Kate folded her arms.
“I was not.” She folded her own arms. The crew oohed. Hmm. Probably best to put her shirt back on. “There’s no need to pout.”
“I’m not pouting.” Kate ripped the shirt from the floor and threw it at her. Cheeks were a little flushed there. “You think clothes change where you come from?”
Oh, that was low. Someone had read the book. “They do.”
“They don’t. I know plenty of people from council estates, and they are lovely.” She glared and shoved the shirt around Darcy’s shoulders. “They are not that bad.”
“Where I lived was.” She batted Kate’s hands away and took the shirt.
“It produced you.” Kate motioned to her like she wanted to slap her. “I’d say that gives them a head start on most places.”
And she wanted to kiss her. Irritating. “You’re just biased.”
“Yes, I am.” Kate threw her hands in the air. “Now get in there and put on boxers.”
“Don’t boss me around.” She yanked her shirt closed.
“Why, not so much fun when it’s you?” Kate grabbed her arm and dragged her to the changing room like she wanted to throw her inside. Yet desire ignited in her eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped and ripped the door back. It slammed to the wall and dropped from the top hinge. “See what you did?”
“That’s right, blame it on me.” Kate shoved her at the next changing room.
“I am; you were the one swinging on it.” Darcy stomped in through the door and slammed it shut in Kate’s face. No way was she coming in. She leaned her head to the door. How was she going to keep it professional? How?
Kate folded her arms as she waited outside the changing room. Darcy was infuriating. How could anyone who looked as incredible as her think she had a thing wrong with her? Who’d done that to her? Was it modelling? She hammered on the door. “Are you sleeping in there or something?”
Zoë exchanged a glance with Marge. Yeah, she was moody.
“Calm yourself, Kate,” Darcy said in her unruffled tone. “I will be worth the wait.”
Kate turned and glared at the doorway. Rub it in. “Just get out here.” Wow, had they swapped roles. She stopped. Maybe Darcy was nervous or something? “I know you’ll look wonderful.”
“Don’t assume I have any issues with wearing ridiculous items of clothes. I was a catwalk model.” She said it with a smugness.
“You’re a supermodel, and you’re still modelling.” Kate hammered on the door again. “The camera is waiting.”
Darcy pulled the door back and strode out with utter confidence, all sheer charisma and female grace. Her body looked fluid, even more toned and… Oh, she made boxers look…wow.
Darcy reached out and pushed Kate’s mouth closed. “Do try to find some composure.”
Where from?
“As you see, the tightness of these boxer shorts pulls across my thighs, drawing attention to them even when a darker colour often fades out the area and lighter colours draw your eye.” Darcy turned like she would on a catwalk and looked over her shoulder. “But, even in ill-fitting clothes, it’s about confidence.”
Zoë murmured her agreement. “You wear the outfit, not the other way around.”
Blanche leaned on Zoë’s shoulder. “I think they work for you. Pair of boy shorts would be better, but not bad.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow like she was genuinely touched.
Susannah covered her eyes. “Mum, do we have to see you so naked?” She turned to Marge. “Put some clothes on her.”
Darcy chuckled. “The bra flattens my bust, which is important support for running and other activities, yes.” She hoisted up her breasts. “But they don’t give me shape.”
“They give you plenty of shape. What are you on about?” Kate moved her hands and prodded the toned, firm stomach. “Washboard.” She stroked her hand over Darcy’s shoulders. “Elegant.” She hoisted Darcy’s breast up. “Doesn’t matter how you dress these, they look good.” She snapped her hands away and tugged at the shorts. “And these make your legs look athletic.”
“This makes me look androgynous.” Darcy met her eyes, the glimmer of a pulsing desire there. “You would make a fantastic designer.”
Kate frowned. Was Darcy right? She looked to Zoë, who nodded. “Sorry, honey, she’s got you there.”
Shit.
“You look sporty.” She folded her arms. “And less like you’re selling yourself.”
Darcy arched her eyebrow. Yes, they both knew full well how much she liked the lingerie. Rub it in again.
“Anyway,” she muttered and handed over a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “Stick them on.”
Darcy took them, flicked them off the hanger, and pulled them on like she was used to it. Yes, she must have been a dummy for a lot of designers. Baggy jeans slung low on the waist and a tight T-shirt.
“And I’m now extremely androgynous.” She turned to Kate. “These jeans pull the eye to my stomach, which is flat, and has the same effect as the cleavage.” She ran her fingers along the top.
Kate swallowed.
“The baggy shape does cancel out my thighs, and the side pockets create a masculine line.” She smiled like she was pleased at Kate’s choice. “You do shorten my legs, though, and, no doubt this goes with a flat shoe or a boot?”
Shit. She had her again.
Darcy smiled that patronising smile. “The T-shirt you’ve chosen is tight to my biceps and triceps, which accentuates the muscle tone there and elongates my shoulders, again androgenising my form.” She tapped her chest. “The breasts make an appearance, but they aren’t your focus, because they are pushed down.” She pointed to her arms and her neck. “But these are.”
Zoë squinted like she was trying to think, or maybe baggy jeans hurt her to look at. “You pull it off, though.”
Blanche cocked her head. “You really, really do.”
Zoë raised an eyebrow at her.
Blanche shrugged. “What? Like that’s a surprise?”
Susannah shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“And why is that?” Darcy smiled at her like she knew.
“You look as…on display as you did before. I just don’t get why.” She frowned and looked to Zoë.
“Because she’s not attracting a guy but pulling out the traits a woman is interested in.” Zoë pulled her mouth to the side. “I prefer the cleavage.”
The crew murmured their obvious agreement.
“I’d rather people just looked at you because you had something nice to say,” Susannah muttered, then held up her phone. “Tweet question: Sally from Hertfordshire wants to know if you feel different in those clothes.”
Darcy nodded. “Yes. I feel more assertive. It makes me feel like I have a dominant presence.” She fixed Kate with a charming smile. “But I feel shorter.”
“You don’t look it.” Kate chewed her lip. She liked Darcy in the outfit as much as she liked her in the bra and pants. She looked good. She didn’t care what she was in, or not in; she just wanted to kiss her.
Darcy’s eyes softened like she knew it. “But it’s about feeling too.”
“What’s wrong with androgynous?” she mumbled. If she didn’t say something, she was going to grab her and kiss her until someone dragged her off.
“Nothing.” Darcy smiled and stroked her cheek with the pad of her warm thumb. “If I feel good, if I am attracting who I wish to attract, and I have confidence, then these clothes are as sexy as lacy bras.”
Oh, great. Back to lacy bras. Was she blushing again? She touched her cheeks, and Darcy chuckled.
“I’m sure, if the audience wants it enough, Zoë could explain all the rules of making androgynous look incredible.” She motioned to Zoë. “She is the poster girl for it.”
Zoë winked at her. “You got it.”
“Then let’s make Darcy androgynous.” Kate folded her arms. She didn’t know why she was saying it, but it felt…childish.
“If you’d like, Kate.” Darcy smiled at the camera. “I’m sure Blanche will happily model for some aspects?”
Blanche nodded. “Yeah, I will. I’d love Zoë to dress me.”
Zoë beamed at her. “You would?”
“Yup, honey. Gay me up.” She grinned and held Darcy’s gaze. Was that a wobble? Darcy was smiling, but it was that practiced smile. “Scared you can’t pull it off next to me?”
Darcy narrowed her eyes. “You’re on.”
“Cut!” Marge grinned like she’d cheer. “What are the tweets saying, Susannah?”
Susannah stared at her phone. “The LGBTQIA…” She looked to Zoë. “Did I get that right?”
Zoë nodded. “You got it.”
“Well, the entire community just woke up. It’s crazy trending again. Hashtag Gay Me Up.” She wheezed out a breath and looked up at Darcy. “They are loving the fact you’re being so supportive.”
Darcy shrugged. “Supportive? I thought you felt I was fake?” She turned and strode back into the changing room and shut the door.
“I’m not sure what you are,” Susannah mumbled and stuck her phone in her pocket. “Other than messed up.”
“I’d say beautiful,” Kate whispered to the door and smiled over at Susannah. A picnic-blanket dinner was needed to cheer her up.
“You’re biased,” Darcy whispered back, but her tone wasn’t snappy this time, or patronising, but a raw, cracked sound like she was holding back tears.
“Yeah, I am.” She placed her hand on the door, wanting to push it open and hug Darcy more than anything else. She’d read the book. It hurt reading what she’d been through and heartened her that Darcy had used her pain to give Susannah a great home. Anyone reading the book would think she was a hero. Was she? “I love you.”
Darcy shuddered out a breath. “I’ve no idea why.”
“Because you look good in boxers.” She pushed off the door and strode away before she did something she wanted to, and Darcy’s blurted, breathy, bubbling laugh rang out. Sounded better each time she heard it.