Chapter Four
Nisha grabs holdof a red bikini that is nothing more than three tiny pieces of flimsy material. She waves it in front of me, a devious look on herface.
“How about thisone?”
“Are you joking? That thing will just about cover mynipples.”
“I think that’s the point, isn’t it?” she says, chucking it atme.
“Get lost, Nisha. I am not wearing that!” I hiss under my breath. The shop assistant gives us a sternlook.
“Can I assist you with anything,” she says rather tartly. Her left eyebrow shoots up, almost hitting herhairline.
“Sorry,” I say. “We were just discussing the design of this bikini.” I feel like a naughty kid being told off by a teacher. This shop is one of the more exclusive boutiques along Sloane Street and not somewhere I feel entirely comfortable in; even less now, given the shop assistant’s obvious distaste. Clearly, she doesn’t think we should be in here either. I look around. Aside from us, the shop is empty so it’s not as if she can afford to bechoosy.
“That bikini is three hundred and fifty pounds…” She lets the words hang in the air between us. Is she implying that we are unable to afford it? I mean we can’t afford it, but that’s not the point at all. I glance at Nisha, who is glaring at the shop assistant. Oh,dear.
“Do you have this in any other colour?” Nisha asks, her voicesaccharin.
The woman takes the bikini from her. “No, we do not. Besides, this bikini is only available up to a sizetwelve.”
“You’re kidding me? The average woman in the UK is a size sixteen, and this only goes up to a twelve?” Nisha says,aghast.
The shop assistant’s gaze drops to my chest, before she proceeds to look me up anddown.
“I think something with a bit moreall oversupportwould bemore suitable for you, madam. We have some lovely swimsuits that should be more flattering for a woman of your... stature. I think this one goes up to a size fourteen,” she says, grabbing probably the drabbest swimsuit in thestore.
What abitch.
Nisha glances at me. I can see the familiar look of protectiveness tighten her face. She’s about to give the shop assistant a mouthful, but I have other ideas. This woman needs to be taught alesson.
“Chloe, is it?” I say, reading her name tag. “I think I might just try the bikini on afterall.”
Chloe’s eyebrow arches once more, and I suddenly wish I had a strip of wax so that I could remove it from her face. My arm remains outstretched in front of me. After a moment’s hesitation, she reluctantly hands me the bikini. Striding into the changing room, I flip my phone open and tap in a quick message in the WhatsApp group I share with Max, Bryce and Hud. They are shopping in the Gucci store further down Sloane Street, buying clothes for our holiday tomorrow. I think their opinion may berequired.
A minute later, I’m standing in the changing room wearing the bright red bikini. Nisha peeks around the changing roomcurtain.
“Holy shit, Lou, you look H.O.T, hot! That cow is just a jealous, stuck-upbitch.”
I look in the mirror, at the curve of my hips, the gentle roundness of my tummy and my ample breasts. I’m a size twelve and perfectly happy in my own skin and, surprisingly, the bikini fits well, given it really is only a few pieces of material fixed together with string. Its purpose is to show as much flesh as possible and it certainly achieves that. My phone pings, and I read the message. Good, they’re here. Pulling the curtain aside, I stride out into thestore.
“What the hell are you doing?” Nisha asks, a look of surprise on herface.
“Showing that stuck up cow that feeling good about yourself has nothing to do with what dress size you are. It’s all aboutconfidence.”
“Oh fuck, this is going to be interesting,” Nisha says,sniggering.
Standing just outside the changing room are Max, Bryce and Hudson. They stop talking when I stand in front of them, hands on my hips. Bryce’s mouth has dropped open in a delightful O shape, Max is blowing out a slow breath and Hudson is eying me greedily. Out of the corner of my eye I see that Chloe has noticed my men and the Gucci bags they are carrying. They scream wealth and I can practically see the pound signs flicking in hereyes.
“So, what do you think, guys? Chloe here suggested that this bikini wouldn’t be suitable for a woman of mystature. I think that was the word you used?” I say, looking at her, my own eyebrowarching.
“Well, I wasn’t actually suggesting it wouldn’t fit…” she fumbles, her facereddening.
“No? That isexactlythe impression I got. I thought my boyfriends here might have an opinion on that, given theirs are the only ones thatcount.”
Chloe’s eyebrows finally lose themselves in her hairline as she digests the wordboyfriends,plural.
Bryce looks from me to the shop assistant and, realising what must have happened, puts on his sexiest, fuck-me voice. I adore him more than I already do in thismoment.