Page 7 of Band of Brothers - MFMM Menage Romance (Sweet Treats 8)

4

June

“What?” I ask, straining to hear in the hallway of the hotel. “What did you say again?”

We finished the pampering, which went by much too fast for my taste. Alizeh told the ladies who did our hair and nails that we only had an hour, and upon hearing those words, they began to work like machines. Soon, I was brushed, pampered and primped within an inch of my life. My skin glows and my hair has never looked better. My make-up was done by a professional, emphasizing my Cupid’s bow lips and big brown eyes.

“Oh wow, I don’t even recognize myself without the deep red lipstick,” I said, pressing my lips together while staring at myself in the mirror. “It’s so different!”

The make-up artist merely clucked.

“The red lipstick was pretty, but a bit vampy,” she said. “You look more natural and fresh this way. The dads will love it.”

I turn to her.

“The dads? Which dads? My dad?”

The make-up artist exchanges an alarmed look with Alizeh.

“You didn’t tell her?” the older woman asks in a low voice.

The blonde girl looks grim.

“Not yet. And it’s almost show time too.”

“Oh my!” the make-up artist exclaims before scurrying off. “Good luck!”

I didn’t know what to make of that interaction, so I ignored it. But now, we’re in the darkened corridor of a hotel hallway. I have no idea what’s going on. Why they primped and pampered me only to have me shipped here for god-knows-what, is a complete mystery. Even more, the dress I’m wearing is ridiculous. It’s a thin, white silk slip that caresses my curves, creating mysterious shadows while emphasizing my generous figure.

“What’s going on again?” I ask Alizeh. “Seriously, what are we doing? I don’t get it. Is this some kind of debutante ball? But if so, how can I be wearing this?” I ask, gesturing to my feet. Because in addition to the silky slip, they’ve procured a pair of clear, acrylic platform heels for me to don. Seriously, I’m beginning to feel like a stripper crossed with the Virgin Mary. This is such a weird outfit.

The older girl merely leads me down the darkened hallway before stopping in front of a set of double doors. I can tell that there’s a conference of some sort on the other side because there’s a square of light beneath the closed doors, and the low growl of voices. Odd. It sounds like a conference of men, but then again, that would make sense if Dads and Daughters consists of long-haul truckers.

Alizeh takes a deep breath and looks at me, really looks at me, for the first time since we’ve met.

“June, I haven’t done right by you,” she begins.

I stop her.

“But how so?”

She shakes her head impatiently.

“Owen should have told you more. It was your father’s responsibility to tell you what was happening today. When I realized he hadn’t told you, I should have stepped in. But it’s too late now, and I just want to say good luck, okay? Go with what the voice tells you. You’ll enjoy it and it’ll be easier that way.”

I stare at her.

“The voice? What are you talking about? Do you mean my inner voice or my conscience?”

But then the double doors swing open and the blonde girl pushes me out of the hallway and into the conference room.

“Listen to the music!” she calls from the shadows. “Go with the flow and enjoy yourself!”

I turn to ask Alizeh another question, but the door has shut with a resounding slam. Then, I turn slowly, and suddenly realize that I’m the focus of attention. I’m in a ballroom of sorts, but it’s dark with the exception of a spotlight on me. Oh my god, what’s going on?

My eyes peer into the gloom, and all I can make out are the silhouettes of hard, huge, muscular men. These must be the truckers. My pulse accelerates as my eyes dilate. Are they all here for me? Again, Alizeh’s words ring in my mind. Go with the flow and enjoy yourself.

But what am I supposed to be doing, exactly? Suddenly, a mechanical voice rings out. It’s a woman’s voice, low and soothing.

“Welcome to the initiation of June Merchant. June is eighteen, curvy, five foot four and a brunette with brown eyes. Step to the dais, please, June.”

My inhale slowly as my pulse beats. Oh my gosh, this must be the voice that Alizeh was talking about. I search the room slowly, the spotlight hot on my skin, and see a raised circular area which is surely the dais. My knees wobbly, I make my way over as the voice speaks again.

“Thank you,” it says. “Now June, onto the dais please.”

I stand stock still. Am I being displayed for the men’s pleasure? Oh my god, what do I do?

But like a robot, I get onto the dais and face the crowd.