"Pull in your stomach," Tilda replied briskly, like a drill sergeant in heels.

Lyndon gave her a stare but obeyed.

With a little shimmy and a lot of effort, the dress finally slid into place.

Tilda zipped it up at the back and took a step back, hands on hips. "There," she announced triumphantly. "ALL done!"

Tilda tilted her head, studying him like an artist reviewing her latest masterpiece.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but then her expression shifted. Something wasn't right.

Her gaze dropped to his chest—and she suddenly realized the problem.

Too flat. She'd forgotten the one crucial accessory—a bra.

"Hold on a sec," she said, spinning on her heel toward the door. She needed to grab something to enhance his flat chest.

Halfway there, she turned and wagged a finger in mock seriousness. "Don't you dare take it off!"

With that, she dashed out of the room. Lyndon looked down at himself, utterly dismayed.

The tight red dress clung in all the wrong places, and he felt absurd-Like a mannequin caught in the wrong department.

Wearing women's clothes for the first time, he was already regretting every second of it.

If anyone saw him like this..

Moments later, Tilda returned, triumphantly holding up-—of all things—two apples.

Lyndon blinked. "Honey.. why are you holding fruit?" "Just sit," she said, eyes gleaming with mischief.

She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.

Though confused, he sat down obediently.

Without missing a beat, Tilda stuffed the apples down the front of his dress.

Lyndon froze. His expression was pure disbelief. And then it clicked. They were for his chest. A makeshift bra.

Tilda clapped her hands in glee and stepped back to admire the final look. "Now that's the stuff!"

Lyndon wrinkled his nose. "I don't like the way I look. It reeks of madness."

Tilda burst into laughter. "Madness? Please. You're dressed to kill in that stunning dress. Let's add something to enhance this look."

Before he could respond, she popped a wig onto his head.