11, Finding the style

“Since this morning, apparently,” Emma said, hooking her arm into Simon’s. “And I might need your help to pick out more than one dress,” she added.

“Emma,” Simon whined. “I told you, just because I’m gay, it doesn’t mean I like shopping,” he objected.

“Please, pretty please? You are the only one I can trust. I know you will tell me the truth about what fits and what doesn’t. And I will spill the tea, and it is a really, really excellent tea to spill,” she begged.

“Damn you and your knowledge of my weaknesses,” he groaned.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said.

They headed into the first shop to start their hunt. Emma felt bad that she had to lie to her friend, but she couldn’t tell him the truth. She didn’t think she would survive if Simon cut her out of his life. He was a good man, but Emma knew that when she more or less voluntary had signed a sex contract, she had become a glorified sex worker, a pet.

She didn’t think anyone would think that would be okay. So she avo