Mary Kaylene's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

The sandwich wrappers went in the trash. Mary Kaylene kissed Michael's cheek and slipped upstairs alone. She wasn't done. Not tonight. The little cottage was quiet, the bedroom warm and waiting. She opened the drawer and pulled out the orange bikini, the one that caught light like broken glass. She changed fast. The crystal cups hugged her ribs. The straps pressed bright against her skin. She fixed her hair, bit her lip pink, and stood in front of the mirror until she believed it. Then she called down the stairs in the voice she used when she meant business. Michael came up. He stopped in the doorway. His phone was in his hand, but his hand dropped. She walked toward him slow, hips first, and watched his eyes finally land on her and stay. "Sit down," she said. He sat. She gave him every fantasy he'd ever mumbled into a pillow — the look, the curves, the quiet command of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. After, he slept hard, one arm slung across her waist. Mary Kaylene stared at the ceiling, glitter still on her collarbone. She had won the night. She could feel it. But the win sat strange in her chest, because now she knew what it took — a costume, a performance, a body lit up like a warning sign. Tomorrow she'd have to be that again. And bigger.