Page 39 of Idaho

"Oh yeah, my mom can be a lot," Jo said, with a smirk. "But we all love her."

"How do you handle her?" I asked, curious.

"I listen to what I want and ignore the rest," Jo replied, with a shrug.

I mulled that over. "Is that even an option?"

That had them both laughing again. Their eyes met and they nodded and spoke in unison, "Absolutely."

"You just need to practice," Jo offered. Her eyes glinted with mischievousness. "Idaho would make the perfect practice dummy."

"I don't know," I said in a hesitant tone. "I'm not very good at standing up to authority." My parents didn't allow back talk. Or rebelliousness. I wasn't sure why none of us kids had tried. It wasn't like our parents hit us, but they'd perfected the art of manipulation. They were forever reminding us of our duty to the people, and to them, and the damn family name. That was how they controlled us. And now we were all, except my brother, adults who still listened to everything they said. They had complete say over whatever we did.

"That's why you practice," Brittney reminded me.

"I can try."

"We'll help you," Brittney promised.

"What's in it for you?" I asked, with a smile.

"We get to watch you drive Idaho crazy," Jo stated. "It's going to be so much fun. I think we need to start with how you dress."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" I asked, looking down at the jeans and sweater I still had on.

"Nothing," Jo answered, "but it would be fun to dress you up like a princess."

Brittney laughed. "You're going to have her driving him wild by showing up in a ballgown."

"Absolutely not," I told them, folding my arms under my breasts. "I've had enough ballgowns to last a lifetime."

"Fine, something sexy then," Jo decided. "That's better anyway."

Twenty minutes later, Jo's room looked like a tornado had passed through, lifted all the clothes off the ground, and scattered the entire neighborhood's clothing in their place. Not one inch of carpet was showing as she threw items over her shoulder as she weeded them out.

"Perfect!" She turned around, holding up a black garment. "You can even wear your own jeans."

I frowned, but took the top from her. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" they both asked.

"To change."

"We have the same parts," Jo said, with a roll of her eyes, "just change here."

Cheeks heating, I slowly slipped off my sweater to change into the top.

"Umm..." I looked up to find them both staring at me. "I'm not so sure we do have the same parts," Brittney said. "Where have you been hiding those?"

I stared down at my breasts, which was where they were looking. They were encased in turquoise lace, the bra I'd worn to the bar. Folding my arms over my chest, I frowned at them. "What do you mean?"

"What are you, a D cup?" Jo asked. "Your shirts are usually so flowy or baggy, like your sweater, I didn't even realize how big your boobs were."

My face was flaming hot now. My sisters always teased me about my chest. My breasts were the largest, by far, thus why I always wore less revealing outfits. Not to mention, most people back home wouldn't dare to ogle one of the Grand Duke's daughters.

"Oh be quiet," I told them as they grinned at me. Slipping the shirt on, I froze. "No. Absolutely not." It was skin tight. And it left about an inch of my belly showing from where it stopped and my jeans started.

"Yes," they both said in unison. They had a habit of doing that.