Ocean's Touch by Denise Townsend

something sensible in Wendy’s shop, ignoring everything Wendy or Dylan had suggested. Finally, they’d manhandled Meredith into a dressing room, where Dylan had stripped her down to her skivvies only to abscond with her clothing. Wendy had then appeared with an armful of dresses, which Dylan had told Meredith she had to try on before she’d get her own clothes back.
    They’d all been horrifyingly thin and revealing to Meredith, even though she could also recognize that she was being ridiculous. In reality, the dresses were elegant and au courant , but that was the problem.
    I don’t wear things like this . She thought fondly of her favorite black dress that covered her from neck to ankle in a swathe of thick black velvet.
    But you should , came that sly voice, inviting her to turn around and look at her backside.
    So she did. And, except for the visible panty lines and the thick cotton strap of her bra bisecting her back, she had to admit she looked good.
    Dylan watched Meredith study herself and saw the moment she stopped thinking of herself as “Meredith, Teddy’s widow” and began seeing “Meredith, individual”. She’d turned around to check herself out from behind, and the slow smile that spread over her face pleased him.
    Before I leave , he thought, she’ll see herself truly.
    It’s all he wanted for her really. She’d been conditioned by all these different forces to see herself as everyone, and everything, else’s—as Teddy’s, as his estate’s, as his family’s, as his charity’s. But meanwhile, there was Meredith, the woman, who’d nearly been crushed by the weight of all those alien identities. He didn’t want her to forget her dead husband, but he also wanted her to have her own life again.
    And actually live it , he thought, watching as Meredith very slowly raised her arms behind her back to undo her bra strap. Then he watched as she shimmied the bra off from underneath the dress. She dropped it on the floor before looking first at him and then into the mirror. Meredith ran her hands down her arms, then trailed her fingers down her own neck, as if wondering where her turtleneck had gone.
    She took a step back, her hands going to her hips where they smoothed over the lines of her enormous underpants.
    “Okay,” Meredith said, as if rallying herself before turning to Wendy. “What have you got that’s not sensible?”
    Dylan only barely managed not to cheer.
     
     
    Meredith stepped gingerly from the car, her hired driver helping her before he passed her hand to Dylan. She used her other to clutch her long coat tighter around her.
    The truth was, now that they were away from her bedroom, Meredith felt naked. Alone with Dylan in her house, she’d loved getting ready. She’d shaved her legs and arranged her hair and makeup with more care than she’d taken in years. Then she’d gone into her bedroom, where Dylan had been waiting with her clothes.
    Her selkie lover had helped her into the gorgeous lingerie she’d bought—the black, thigh-high stockings with their lace tops; the scandalously tiny thong panties made of satin and the same lace as the stocking tops; and, finally, the matching satin-and-lace garter belt to which his nimble fingers attached the stockings.
    The only item that went untouched was the bottle of rich, expensive erotic oil that Wendy had gifted the couple. Not that Dylan didn’t already have plans for that oil, but those plans would have to wait.
    In the end, both Wendy and Dylan had agreed that Meredith didn’t need a bra with the dress. In a daze at the shop, Meredith had agreed. And when Dylan had helped drape the dress down her body, her nipples had hardened like pearls at the feel of the soft, cool satin against her skin.
    She’d felt like a goddess when he’d turned her around to look at herself in the mirror. But now, outside of her bedroom and outside of the car, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
    “You look gorgeous,” Dylan said, wanting to