Atlas

ꜰᴏʀᴛʏ-ᴏɴᴇ

What have I gotten myself into?

I know I agreed on Atlas picking out my dress last night. I won't blame the decision on the little intake of alcohol, and I won't blame it on a fogged up sex-brain either. But what the fuck?

"Atlas, that's too much," I kindly let him know, staring at myself in the mirror. "People can see my boobs!"

His eyes drop to my breasts, smirking. "Not really. It's not see-through." But it has quite the cleavage! "You look stunning, sweetheart."

"Well, thank you. But looking alright and being appropriately dressed are two different things!"

"You are appropriately dressed." His arms close around my neck, my back pressing to his front as his chin rests right on my head. "You're just overthinking this, sweetheart."

"So you have no problem letting your wife walk around a bunch of rich men with a cleavage that shows off half my boobs. And a slit up my leg that reaches higher than my patience?"

He chuckles, letting one hand dangle down right over my boob, grazing it lightly. "You do remember what you wore for our wedding, right? This dress is nothing compared to it."

He might have a point. But this dress is red and satin. Red, the most attractive colour there is. And the cleavage—god, the cleavage. It shows off my boobs perfectly, even I could salivate looking at myself. Now imagine what a bunch of rich bachelors would do.

"Besides, sweetheart, you're not going there on your own. If someone says one wrong thing or looks at you the wrong way..." he trails off.

"I'll have to hide all the knives around us, I know." Our eyes meet in the mirror, conveying a message without using words. The message being an exchange of the words "I love you". "What about Allie?"

"What about her?"

Taking a deep breath, I try to see how much I can breathe in before my air gets caught off by the dress. It's tight, but it would be far tighter if my postpartum belly were still big. So at least there's that.

"Are we giving her to your mum or Cody? Or do we have a babysitter?" I pause for a second to take another deeper breath. "I'm sorry, Atlas, we can't go. What happens to Allie? I'm not ready to leave her in anyone else's hands yet. What if she's allergic to something and we don't even know it yet, so we can't tell anyone. And then, she dies. Oh god, or what if—"

"Sweetheart, breathe." He wipes a thumb underneath my eye. Did I start to cry? "The cheeseball is coming with us. She'll be bored to the gods, but then again, she'll be asleep most of the time anyway."

I shake my head. "You can't take a baby to a charity event, Atlas."

"Yes we can. I'm the host. I can do whatever I want." Guess I'll just have to live with that. Even if he wasn't hosting that event, I'm sure Atlas would pay people off to allow a child in—more like a three-month-old baby.