Ravishing Rose by Kris Pearson

CHAPTER ONE

    Francesca scowled at her very Kiwi socks. All the rest of her reflection looked fantastic.
    The long coal-black curls of her wig flowed out from under the exotic helmet with its feathery crest and half-face mask. The tightly laced violet velvet bodice’s plunging neckline revealed her breasts practically down to the nipples, and the gauzy lace encrusted skirt with layers and layers of crushed shot-gold petals brushed the floor behind her but showed plenty of thigh in front.
    She was a creature from Venice’s famous Carnevale— apart from the socks.
    How she yearned to see Venice!
    “Come and show me how you look, darling,” Bella croaked from the huge master bedroom next door. Frankie’s sister-in-law languished in bed with her phone and a heap of glossy magazines, coughing and complaining, and about to miss the party of the century if you could believe her.
    As she twirled for Bella’s inspection, Frankie caught sight of herself in the massive mirror. A wash of secret delight shimmered through her. It was so not Francesca Ellison staring back from the sequined-edged openings of the mask. This woman needed sooty eye-shadow, lashings of mascara, outrageous panties...
    “And my boots, too,” Bella demanded. “I want to see the total look.”
    “Back in a mo,” Frankie sighed as she padded away again.
    She sat on the window seat in her room and wrestled with the burgundy suede above-the-knee boots—brand new and still wrapped in crackling tissue paper inside their long box. Italian boots, which had no doubt cost a small fortune. They were a size too large for her, hence the thick wool tramping socks to take up the slack.
    Once she’d zipped them up she stood inches taller but acceptably comfortable. She returned to show Bella and struck a pose, head high, breasts thrust out, hands on hips.
    She felt fantastic. Not at all like the Frankie she assumed everyone else saw. The dutiful daughter, her mother’s caregiver, the good little girl who obliged and obliged and always put herself last.
    No, she’d now become a confident adventurer, itching to leave New Zealand and explore the rest of the world. Finally free to live out her fantasies and desires.
    She sneaked another admiring glance at herself in Bella’s mirror. Slathering on the dramatic eye makeup would be easy enough. But the party panties? Did she dare wear that tiny thong? The one she’d unwrapped in front of everyone at the Christmas work party and then couldn’t hide? Secret Santa had been shopping at the sex store—the pretty scrap was dark chocolate brown, imbued with chocolate flavoring according to the label, and had a diamante edged cutout on the front panel.
    Frankie had been swamped with embarrassment, as the anonymous purchaser had no doubt intended. She’d tried on the wisp of stretchy lace at home later that evening, blushed all over again, and then buried it deep beneath the rest of her underwear. There’d been no-one special to wear it for, and her fragile mother hadn’t needed a fright like that lurking amongst the laundry. But maybe tonight?

    Mike Ellison checked his Rolex as he bounded down the staircase. “Ready Sis?” he called.
    Frankie rose from her seat in the hall alcove, tall, imperious, and spectacular.   “More than ready.”
    Mike’s eyes widened. “You’ll do,” he said. “You’ll definitely do. “Poor old Bella, missing out on wearing that.”  
    “Yes, it’s a gorgeous costume, and she even insisted I had her new boots.” She did a quick twirl to show her brother the full effect, and then tipped her head on one side and checked out his tuxedo and swirling cape in return. “You look exotic too.”  
      Mike grinned, and she gasped at his suddenly revealed vampire teeth. “Don’t they feel strange? Sharp?”
    “Bearable. I’ll probably take them out after a while. And lose the mask,” he added, producing a diamond patterned silver one from his pocket.
    “I thought we were all supposed