Page 99 of Bridesmaid By Chance
I glance over at her, my eyes falling to the immense amount of cleavage she has on display today. She chose a white-and-blue toile dress that’s fitted up top but loose at her hips. If it wasn’t for her tits nearly popping out the top, it would be the perfect dress to go get tea.
“I don’t know,” I say as I tear my eyes away from her cleavage. “I thought it was?—”
“Shh,” Madame Lori says with a snap of her finger in our direction.
Both Sloane and I straighten up.
So when I decided Sloane needed to go to etiquette class, I was thinking that it would be more of what utensils to use at a fancy dinner, things like that so she wouldn’t feel so…out of place when we are out on business.
But this…this is not what I was expecting.
First of all, I wasn’t expecting to be in the class.
Second of all, I wasn’t expecting there to be not a single table in sight, but rather just a line of chairs with an instructor toting a riding crop in her hand. When she entered the room, she slammed it against the wall, scaring everyone right out of their goddamn shoes, me included.
“You have come to me for help,” Madame Lori says. “And from the looks of it, you all seem to be in desperate need.”
I glance around the room at all of the couples. I mean, we look like a decently posh group. How could she be a judge of that? The guy in the bow tie, for instance, looks more than ready to take on a business function that includes petty small talk and low-hanging quips.
A woman to the right, who is wearing a flower fascinator in her hair, raises her hand. “Yes?” Madame Lori asks.
“Is there time to go to the bathroom?”
What a dumb-ass question. Don’t you know you always pee before entering an event? Maybe I was wrong; maybe these people do need etiquette training.
“You should have gone before,” Madame Lori says with a snap, and I inwardly applaud myself. Might have been a while since I learned the rules, but this guy still has it. “Now, I need you all to take your chairs and move them to a distinct part of the room, find your own quiet section.”
Odd but okay.
I stand up and just as I’m about to grab my chair, a resounding snap shrieks through the room, pausing all of us. We turn to look at Madame Lori and she yells, “Sit down!”
Shocked, we all sit and I can feel Sloane move in closer to me.
“When I offer you direction, you must say ‘Yes, Madame Lori.’”
Jesus. Okay.
“Now”—she moves around the room again, tapping her crop in her hand—“please, pick up your chairs and find your own distinct area in the room.”
Together as a group, we say, “Yes, Madame Lori.”
Then we grab our chairs. I take mine and Sloane’s and carry them to a corner off to the left near the closed curtains.
“Do we sit down?” Sloane whispers to me.
“I have no fucking idea,” I whisper back.
“You should know; you’ve been through this kind of class before.”
“This is different. Must be a more modern version.”
“Now, line up,” Madame Lori says, motioning for us to all line up in the middle of the floor. We do as we’re told because I don’t think anyone wants to see the markings of that riding whip on our skin.
Once we’re in position, she walks up and down the line, examining every participant in the class. When she gets to me and Sloane, she studies Sloane’s dress, and I inwardly plead for Sloane not to get picked on. Herbreasts are nearly spilling out, and I know that’s not what a teacher would be looking for in an etiquette class.
“Does she belong with you?” Madame Lori asks me.
“She does. She’s my wife,” I say.
