The Director's Cut by Js Taylor (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud txt) 📕

bust. It skims a line, very low across my chest, exaggerating the hourglass effect of the waist corseting even further.

I let the skirt drop down, bringing the silken flowers of the hem to rest in an asymmetrical line which starts high on my thigh and ends just below the knee.

The light green has done something amazing to my eyes, making the blue-grey tones even brighter against my pale skin. Traditional Spanish red makes my black hair deeper and more dramatic. But this green colour makes my eyes the main event.

I let out a breath, taking in my reflection.

Now the dress is closed, the figure flattering apparatus inside is completely hidden. You would never guess that this dress contained corsetry.

I shake my head in wonder. You can’t odds the genius of that.

There’s no doubt about it, Issy. You look totally stunning.

I stifle a grin at my own lack of modesty. But it’s true. I now understand why people have a love affair with designer clothing. If they can make this kind of transformation, then I see the appeal.

There’s a soft knock at the door.

“Hello?” I call, still glued to the strange novelty of my own reflection.

“Are you ready?”

James’s voice. As ever, I feel a stab of excitement.

“Give me a minute,” I call.

I’ve not had time for make-up, so I launch myself towards the mirror and make a few quick sweeps of mascara.

There, that will have to do. I figure the dress will do a lot of the work for me.

I walk to the door and open it.

On the other side stands James, immaculately dressed in a dark suit. He’s holding a bunch of red roses.

Red roses. Oh James.

I smile up at him to see his face is frozen in amazement.

“Issy,” he breathes. “You look…. Oh wow.”

I smile shyly.

He steps into the room quickly.

“We’re not going out.” He sets his face in a comic expression of fear. “I can’t have other men see you like that,” he says, closing the door behind him and stepping towards me. “I’d spend the whole night fighting them off.”

I laugh. “It’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

He’s staring at the dress.

“Stop it,” I laugh. “Your eyes will pop out of your head.”

“I think they might.”

James hands me the flowers and takes a step back to assess my outfit again.

“My God,” he murmurs. “Words do not do you justice, Isabella Green.”

“Thank you,” I smile, sinking my head into the fragrant blooms. “They’re beautiful. I don’t know what I did to deserve an entire bunch.”

“You deserve that and more, every day,” says James. His eyes haven’t left my figure since he’s stepped in the room.

Divested of the flowers, I notice he’s also holding a pair of green high-heeled shoes.

“Are those for me as well?”

“They’re certainly not for me,” he says. “But I’m not sure I can let you have them.”

“And why not?” I move to place the bunch of roses on the bed.

James steps towards me, moving his arms around my waist. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to concentrate on a single thing all night, seeing you looking like this.”

“I spent a long time imagining you in that dress,” he adds, “and now all I can think about is getting you out of it.”

He pulls me a little tighter. “If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I would rip the clothes off your lovely body right now.”

I feel a twinge of lust spark through me.

“However,” he says with a sigh. “I’m looking forward to tonight. And I’d hate to be late.”

I’m remembering his words from before.

He wants me to prove that I’m his.

Where could we be going?

Chapter 26

We venture out of the hotel on foot, and James assures me the restaurant is only a few streets away.

“I chose it deliberately,” he says, “because I had an inkling of how beautiful you would look in that dress. And I didn’t want to have to wait too long to get you back to the hotel.”

“That doesn’t sound too gentlemanly,” I admonish him.

“My sincerest apologies,” James replies. “Lust and manners are not comfortable bedfellows.” He pulls me closer to him as we walk.

We’re out on Las Ramblas now, Barcelona’s main thoroughfare. It’s lined with outdoor restaurant seating, colourful shops, stalls, and busking artists and performers.

The warm night air feels light on my bare shoulders.

“Besides, I regret the decision to be within walking distance now,” admits James. “I didn’t think about the consequences of taking you outside.”

“Which are?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” asks James. “Every single person on this street is staring at you.”

I have noticed a few glances, but I’m sure he’s exaggerating.

James shakes his head. “You are going to be a movie star in every sense of the word,” he says sadly. “I only hope I’ll be able to cope with it all.”

I’m never sure how to take this line of conversation, so I say nothing, choosing instead to soak up the heady atmosphere of the Barcelona streets.

James makes a sudden move left, drawing me to the side of the road.

“Here we are,” he says.

“We’re here already?”

We’re stood in front of an empty-looking building, and I can’t see any clue as to a restaurant.

“Up there,” he clarifies.

I tip my head and see glowing candles and a tiny sign in the window of the second floor. It’s written in Catalan, rather than Spanish, which is the native language of Barcelona.

Must be a real local place.

I turn to James, questioningly. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go in.”

I follow James up a dark staircase, and we emerge into a typically Spanish-looking restaurant. There is a large bar of dark polished wood with a long sweep of ornate tiles behind it.

Hanging from the bar are large sides of cured meat and an elaborate construction of tiled shelving filled with wine bottles and jars of olives.

From what I can make out, it’s a very typical Spanish bar. I’ve seen this kind of set up a hundred times before. And I’m at a loss to know