His Mafia Queen

A Reluctant Transformation

"Now, just close your eyes and we'll make you beautiful. Relax, girlie."

Feeling apprehensive, I shut my eyes just as someone turns on some upbeat dance music.

"It's a party!" Ricky cries. "I'm going to make you blonder and even more beautiful!"

I stifle a sigh as I feel hands work their way into my damp hair. Someone murmurs that we should open a bottle of champagne.

"I'll take a glass or three," I say out loud, which gets claps from the stylists or whatever they are. I'm going to need some liquid courage for this.

If it's a party, why do I feel so apprehensive?

***

"Everything has"—I flip through the rack—"sequins."

I've never worn anything with sequins before. I'm standing at the rack in a robe—I still haven't seen my hair or makeup—and am trying to pick a dress.

"You don't like sequins?" Ricky squints, as if I've just confessed to a crime and he isn't sure how to handle my punishment.

"It's not that." I pull out a dazzling black dress and study the sequins up close. "I don't have many occasions to wear stuff like this. No occasions, actually."

My version of sexy evening wear is the scoop-neck, turquoise-colored, body con dress I got for eight bucks at a discount store in New York. I wore it in the city whenever I went on a first date or to a club. Come to think of it, I haven't put it on since coming to Florida. Where is it, anyway? Have I even unpacked it from those boxes in my closet?

Ricky makes a tsk noise. "Well, we'll remedy this tonight. What's a formal charity event without sequins?"

"Indeed," I respond with a touch of sarcasm while he pulls out the black dress.

"Take off your robe."

"What?" I clutch the lapels, bringing them closer to one another.

"I have to see if you're going to need shapewear. Honey, this is a tight dress."

"Isn't it stretchy?" The last thing I want to do is get naked in this roomful of strangers.

He scrutinizes the fabric. "A little. Let's see what it looks like with the thong."

Ricky snaps his fingers and his assistant brings over a bag with a fancy lingerie brand name on it. "Here are a few different thong options. I guess you can change in the bathroom."

He thrusts the dress and the bag toward me. I reluctantly accept them. "What about a bra?"

"You won't need one with this dress."

Oh, great. Going out in public with the city's most infamous mobster-bachelor with my tits swinging in the wind. "Okay, well, what about a dress where I do need a bra?"

"Umm." Ricky turns back to the rack and flips through. He shakes his head. "We don't have any."

"Lovely," I mutter, and shuffle into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and groan.

"What the hell is this," I yell.

The door pops open, and with it, Ricky's blue-haired head. "What's wrong?"

I point at my face and my mouth drops open. It's difficult to even form words.

"Honey, you look gorgeous. The platinum blonde is so much better than the dishwater blonde. And a red lip and smoky eye is classic."

"Yeah, classic if I'm trying to gain subscribers. Because that's what I look like. A cam girl."

"Pfft. Shut up. You're going to knock Gabriel Greco's socks off." I hear the pop of a champagne bottle—our second—and a whoop from the small crowd of people in the bedroom.