The Imitation Game ✓

FOURTEEN | THE STORY OF TONIGHT, PT. I

Cora had run into a small issue—they were supposed to be leaving any minute now and she couldn't get her dress zipped up.

Everything had been going to plan up until now. She didn't have her personal stylist (aka Siena) around to help her out tonight (she was off at one of her evening classes, but she promised Cora several times that it wouldn't make her late to the show), but her makeup look had turned out better than she expected it to and her bob of hair was pretty easy to style as long as she was in the mood to channel her inner '50s starlet (she never wasn't). But she hadn't even thought about needing help with her dress since she'd managed it on her own in the fitting room when she bought it. What she hadn't predicted then was that she would strain a muscle in her shoulder during one of their shows last week and was only now realizing that it inhibited her from being as flexible as she'd been when she got the dress on before. Shooting pain radiated through her arm each time she tried to stretch far enough to get to the zipper and she couldn't afford to put herself at risk of further injury by pushing it too hard.

There was a firm knock on the door—her other problem. Rasmus was picking her up.

"Just a minute!" Cora squeaked at him as she ran into the living room, scouring for anything she might be able to use to aid herself. But what was she expecting to find? One of those scary plastic back scratchers with a hand on it?

She heard a tiny thud that she suspected was him leaning his head against the door. "Are you really about to make us late to our own damn opening night?" he complained.

Cora rolled her eyes. He was being dramatic—they had plenty of time. What she didn't have plenty of were options, particularly when taken into account that she was a nice enough person to be considerate of the fact that he might have friends and family waiting for him. Her own parents were out at dinner right now after coming by the apartment earlier in the afternoon, but she didn't have the slightest clue what his arrangements might be.

Perhaps he was being so snappy right now because he had a girl waiting for him.

She crossed the room to the door and opened it as narrowly as she could while still glaring out at him. "I need a favor."

"A favor?" he repeated. "And why the hell are you hiding?"

It pained her to get the words out, but she did, tight-lipped. "I need you to zip me up."

Rasmus was looking at her incredulously, unspeaking. Okay, he was definitely being dramatic. Even she didn't think it was that absurd.

"You take my dress off of me eight times a week," she pointed out flatly. "Surely you're also capable of zipping it up."

His eyes made it clear that he had some very choice words for her, but instead of verbalizing them he silently stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Flushing, Cora realized that he'd never seen the interior of her apartment before, but his eyes didn't wander far from her as she noiselessly turned her back to him.

He was close, uncomfortably close, which shouldn't even have been possible with how intimate they had to be onstage. But after she'd gotten over the initial mortification of it, having him take her dress off during the show didn't feel like such a massive deal because there was always still the corset underneath it, always another layer shielding her. That shield was gone now.

Cora couldn't see him, but she could feel his breaths brush against her skin. His fingers were startlingly cold when they touched her back, sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.

"Are you sure you didn't die on the way over here?" she hissed under her breath. "You feel like a corpse."

In one swift motion, the dress was zipped and Rasmus was placing those cold hands on her shoulders, nearly making her jump.