Tara’s expression momentarily soured as Nancy entered the room. The clack of heels, something that your wife hadn’t been able to wear in some time, stopped as the figure filled the doorway. And what a figure it was. You had to stop yourself from gawking in much the same way you had when Braxtynne had greeted you. Without Tara’s own excitement to distract her from you, she would definitely notice. Actually, it seemed as though she was watching you to gauge your reaction.
If Braxtynne was a bimbo who had married into money, then Nancy was the one who had grown up with it. Her body was a perfect hourglass, without the trace chub that her mother had. Hefty breasts, perhaps a size smaller than Braxtynne’s bulged out of the top of her black dress. The hem was so short that you could practically see her underwear even standing, long, toned legs on display, perfectly tanned. Her face was pouty, her hair a natural blonde, styled in wavy curls like her mother. You could tell why Tara disliked her. The air of superiority radiated from her, even though she was coasting on her father’s money. Nancy was Tara’s opposite, two different ways one could interpret ‘spoiled’ in the same room.
You kept a poker face, limiting your study of her body to a cursory glance before purposely maintaining eye contact. You raised your hand in greeting, introducing yourself for the third time that day. Nancy didn't immediately respond, regarding you with a look one step below "cool". Her eyes flitted between yourself and her sister for a few moments. A smirk played across her lips.
"Hi. I’m Nancy, the hot sister, obviously. How’s it going, Tubster?”
“Things with my husband are going great. We missed you so much at the wedding. How many guys have you been through whilst I’ve been living with my husband?”
Nancy scowled at that, and you could tell the atmosphere was getting seriously icy. “Oh, I’m so happy for you that you found a guy who didn’t mind all of your……extra curves. It took you long enough.”
The two sisters stared daggers at each other. You looked over at Raymond, who appeared to be getting ready to step between them. Braxtyne looked less concerned, although you suspected that she simply might not be picking up the not-so-subtle subtext. Before anyone could take things further, a girl appeared in the doorway behind Nancy. Short, barely five feet, and slender. Most notably, she was wearing a frilly maid’s outfit. She curtseyed to Raymond, before addressing Nancy.
“Miss Nancy, I have finished organising your purchases into their respective wardrobes. Will you be needing anything else today?” Her voice was soft and demure, and, interestingly, had an English accent.
“Huh? Oh, no, you’re done.” Making a vague waving motion at the girl, she continued her staredown with Tara. The maid, however, stepped between them, and curtseyed to Tara and yourself.
“Welcome back, Miss Tara. I am glad to see you in good health. And to you, sir. Welcome to our residence. My name is Rebecca, Miss Nancy's personal maid.” For the fourth time, you introduced yourself, unsure of whether or not to bow in response to her. Did she just say ‘personal maid’? Wait, did that mean that Roberta was Tara’s own maid? Did everyone have a maid here? You were starting to get overwhelmed. You ended up half bowing, half waving, which caused Nancy to break out into a poorly concealed laugh. She was already getting on your nerves, and you felt you owed Tara an apology for all the times you had insisted that her sister couldn’t be as bad as she claimed.
“Cut it out, Nancy.” Raymond said wearily from the couch. “Rebecca, take the cases back to Charlie's room, then you can head home for the day. Roberta’s on dinner duty.”
“Of course, Master Raymond.” With a final curtsey, she left, following Nancy, and almost bumped into Roberta, who had entered silently through the commotion. You wondered if this room always got so much traffic, or if it was just the occasion.
Before Rooberta could speak, Braxtyne was stood in front of her, hands on hips. “Roberta, why aren’t you in uniform?”
“I am in-”
“No, you’re wearin’ slacks. Where’s your dress? You’re supposed to match with Becca!”
“Well, I’ve been to pick up……” Roberta faltered, before sighing deeply. “Sorry, Miss Braxtyne. I’ll go change.”
“Uh-huh. Before dinner, y’hear?”
Roberta nodded, though you could see her teeth grinding. With the strain her hips and backside were putting on her slacks, it seemed like she might have a reason for not wanting to wear the maid’s dress, especially in public. Still, she was clearly unwilling to argue with Braxtyne, so she dutifully bowed and left, and Braxtyne watched her, looking proud of herself. Turning on the balls of her foot, she addressed the room. “Well, I gotta go an’ make sure Alex an’ Gina are doin’ fine in the kitchen. You’ve got an hour before they’ll be done, so why dontcha go ahead an’ settle down in your room, Tara sweetie? I had Roberta fix it up ready for you.”
With that, Raymond also excused himself, leaving you to lend Tara a hand standing up. She was unusually quiet as she led you through the house, and up the wide staircase, even though it was clearly straining her to climb them. Her face was growing red, and she was breathing heavily. Not surprising, since you were sure that she hadn’t actually climbed a staircase for a long time, and this one was a doozy. She stopped at the top, leaning on the rail, either not hearing or ignoring the groan it gave as her weight burdened the wood.
“You okay?” You asked, putting a hand on her shoulder. She merely nodded in response, not making eye contact. It took a few moments for her to recover her breathing enough to lead you down the hallway to her room, right in the corner of the house. And, going by the tacky sign on the door next to it, right next to her parents’. Tara’s hips passed through without incident, although there was precious little space between them and the doorframe. She dropped onto the bed, which gave off the slightest of creaks, and you sat next to her, waiting for her to break the silence. When she did, it caught you off guard.
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