“I propose that you…offer me to him,” Margot whispers, a little scandalously, “as a gift. Until the wedding. To save your chastity or whatever,” she says, flipping a hand in the air like the details of my reasons don’t matter.
“How on earth would we do that?” I whisper.
“Easy. The next time he insists you come to bed, just…bring me along. We’ll go from there.”
“Margot…” I say, still staring at her in disbelief that this could be…a real offer.
“This is what I do, Everleigh,” she says quietly, reaching out and cupping my cheek in her palm. “I give people what they want. What do you think?”
I take a long moment to think about my response, about the stakes of this.
But really – what could it hurt to try? The worst he can do is refuse the “gift” and then I am precisely where I am. Besides
