“Is that so?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Yes. You are my wife, are you not?”
She just glared at me. I took a deep breath. She was not going to make this easy for me, but that was part of her charm.
“Belle, will you please accompany me to the grand opening?”
“I would love to,” she said, smiling at me. “Was that so hard?”
I gave her a brief nod and turned around. What was I even doing?
I do not pace.And yet, Friday evening found me crossing the length of the foyer again, cufflinks fastened, jacket smooth beneath my hands, shoes polished to precision.
The tuxedo was appropriate, the investors expected presence, and the press expected polish. The Columbus property represented months of strategic planning and work to open a new luxury hotel.
I had done this before. What I had not done before was wait for someone.
The dress arrived yesterday. I had not seen it on her. The anticipation was . . . unfamiliar.
I checked my watch. 6:02.
I told myself that being late by two minutes did not constitute a crisis.
Then I heard her. The faint brush of fabric against the banister. The careful rhythm of her steps.
I turned. And for a moment, everything in the room shifted.
Gold. A warm, molten tone that caught the light and held it. The dress traced her body without apology. It was structured at the waist, flowing over her hips, falling in deliberate, liquid lines toward the floor. Thin straps held up her gorgeous curves, all of which shimmered.
It did not soften her strength. It framed it.
Her hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder. Her posture was steady, assured, and entirely her own. She did notdescend like someone unsure, even with an unsteady knee. She descended like someone meant to be seen.
I had seen her powerful before. I had seen her vulnerable. I had never seen her like this.
She tilted her head slightly. “Well?” she asked.
I realized I had not spoken.
“You are . . . ” The word stalled, insufficient. “You are extraordinary.”
The faint flush that rose in her cheeks only deepened the effect.
“Is it too much?” she asked.
I stepped forward instinctively.
“No.” Another step. “If anything,” I said quietly, letting my gaze move over her once more, “I am underdressed.”
Her eyes flicked to my tuxedo.
“You look very handsome.”
“Only a tuxedo would be appropriate next to this,” I replied, and meant it.
She laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded. “But you’re looking at me like I just descended from Olympus.”
“I’m not entirely certain you didn’t.”
