Gracia

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the narrow alley that ran behind the Ministry building. A warm breeze tugged at discarded papers, but the air still carried a trace of exhaust and city grit. Cassidy Mayweather leaned back against the cool stone wall, one heel propped up behind her, arms crossed loosely over her ample middle.

Her tight shirt, crisp and white just hours ago, was now sweaty and clinging, buttons strained over her belly and chest. She’d undone the top few without apology, letting herself breathe in the fading heat. Allowing her belly to taste fresh air. Her long navy skirt hugged her thick hips and full thighs, the shimmer of her glossy black tights catching a bit of light as she shifted her weight. Her short blonde hair was perfectly styled despite the hour—just long enough to sweep aside, just short enough to suggest control.

A white candy cigarette rested between her fingers, and every now and then she brought it to her lips, teeth gently pinching the sugar stick like it was the real thing. It wasn’t nicotine, but it gave her the rhythm. The ritual. She still ate several packs a day.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment.

“You always did have a dramatic flair,” a voice said behind her.

Cassidy opened one eye slowly. A familiar figure had stepped around the corner—tall, confident, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Gracia,” Cassidy said, not moving from the wall. A dimple appeared on her cheek as she gave a tired but genuine smile. “Thought you'd be poking into someone's affairs, or winning journalism awards.”

“I tried,” Gracia said, walking closer. “But it turns out the real stories still start in alleys like this one...” Gracia grinned "with particularly tired looking politicians"

Cassidy chuckled, low and warm. “You caught me mid-scandal,” she said, holding up the candy cigarette like it was contraband.

“Outrageous,” Gracia deadpanned, then stepped up beside her, their shoulders nearly touching. “They must taste better than tobacco surely?”

“You bet...” Cassidy said. “But now I might be addicted to sugar instead of nicotine”

Gracia looked her over—creased shirt, faint sweat at the collar, the fullness of Cassidy’s frame threatening to burst from her tight clothes. Her belly slightly exposed at the bottom of her unbuttoned shirt.

“You look the same... well maybe a bit different, softer around the edges” she said, referencing the Cassidy's clear weight gain