Teaching Their Omega novel · Chapter 19 of 24

Chapter 19: The Mirror

The long mirror had stood in the Grange supply closet since the valley's last Christmas pageant.

It was six feet high, in a scarred oak frame on casters.

And Rhett wheeled it out into the empty classroom at four o'clock the next day with the blinds already down.

The students had gone home.

Patsy had stayed to wipe the board, taken one look at his face.

And left without being asked, with a wink that could have lit the stove.

The classroom was quiet, and chalky, and smelled of cold radiator.

I stood in the middle of the floor in my navy cardigan and watched him lock the door.

"It's yours," Rhett said. "Today's lesson."

"Mine?"

"Tonight Dec and I are the ones who sit still. We're the equipment."

"Equipment."

"You're the audience. We're the show." He grinned the old crooked grin, but it was warm now, not armor. "Come stand here."

He positioned me in front of the glass.

I didn't like mirrors much.

I was a size sixteen with a soft belly, thick thighs and breasts that had never once been fashionable.

And I'd spent a decade dressing in ways that said, don't look.

Behind my reflection in the oak frame stood two tall men in rolled sleeves, one at each shoulder.

"Take off your glasses," Declan said.

"Why?"

"Because we want you to see what we see. Not what you've been told."

"Without my glasses I can't see anything."

"Close enough," said Rhett. "We'll be your eyes."

I took them off.

The mirror went soft and gold around the edges.

I saw myself, a blur of dark hair and pale skin and the two shapes behind me, and it was oddly kinder.

Declan unbuttoned my cardigan from behind.

He eased it off my shoulders, and then my blouse, and then Rhett knelt and unzipped my jeans.

And drew them down my legs, and kissed each knee as he went.

They stripped me slowly, in front of the glass.

By the time I stood in my underwear and nothing else, my breath was coming short.

"Look," Rhett said, rising. "Look at her."

"I'm looking."

"What do you see?"

I made myself answer honestly.

"A woman who's cold," I said. "And embarrassed."

"Wrong answer," said Declan. "Rhett."

"Yes."

"Show her."

Rhett stood at my left and put one large hand on my belly, spread-fingered, warm.

He didn't flinch from it.

He stroked it in slow circles.

And with his other hand he cupped my breast over the lace.

"This," he said. "This is where I put my face, when I'm tired."

"This is the softest place in the valley. I think about it in the truck."

My throat closed.

"And this." Declan, behind me, ran his palm down my hip and my thigh. "This is the best proportion in the world."

"Do you know I measured? In the notebook. I estimated the curve. It's a perfect curve."

"Declan, you did not."

"I did. I drew it. I'll show you."

"You drew me?"

"A diagram. Of your hip. With the dimensions."

Rhett laughed so hard that he had to lean on the mirror.

"He drew a diagram of your ass," he said. "He's been carrying it in his shirt pocket for weeks."

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