Rowan doesn’t move. He’s leaning against the wall outside the fitting room, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on me.
“You’re staying?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“Yes.”
“You can’t just?—”
“I can.” His reply is clipped, final.
He doesn’t say anything else. He just steps aside, one palm sweeping toward the rack of dresses.
So, I do the only thing I can.
I pick the slinkiest, most impractical cocktail dress hanging there.
If I’m going to humiliate myself, I may as well do it in silk.
The dress is champagne-colored and strappy, the fabric clinging in a way that shows everything, and the slit is cut so high I have to steady myself before stepping fully into it. The back dips low, and I realize I should have brought a different bra, one that doesn’t fight with the design. I don’t bother with the zipper. I just hold the dress against me and stare at the mirror, taking in the way it hangs and the way I feel in it.
The sight drags me backward. I’m twenty again, standing in a borrowed dress and wondering if Rowan ever saw me as anything more than a challenge he wanted to break. I remember a night—months before I transferred out of Havemeyer—when I went to one of his dinners. I wore red, not because I thought it was flattering, but because I wanted to see if he would lose that control he guarded so carefully. He didn’t speak to me that night. Not once. But when I left, he followed me. He caught me in a stairwell and kissed me.
I look at myself now—older, harder around the edges, but still the girl who wants to be seen and wanted in a way that means something.
I open the dressing room curtain, my pulse unsteady, and find him exactly where I left him. Rowan is stretched out on the velvet bench, his phone in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. He looks up when I step out, and there’s no blink, no smirk, no easy reaction. Just silence. Just him watching.
His eyes drop slowly, taking in every part of me, from my shoulders to my hips, down the half-zipped back reflecting in the mirror and over the slit that bares most of my thigh. His attention lingers, unhurried, and then something in his expression changes.
A small movement crosses his face, the faintest tightening of his jaw, but it’s enough. He stands, sets the phone down on the bench, and begins to walk toward me. Each step is unhurried, hisfocus fixed entirely on me. My chest rises and falls too fast, my heartbeat loud in my own ears as I watch him close the distance.
“Turn.” It isn’t a question.
I turn, my back now to him, the dress still unzipped, my fingers curling at my sides to keep them steady. I don’t breathe as his hand reaches up, hovering for a second before taking the zipper. He pulls it slowly, closing the fabric inch by inch, and his fingers brush my spine as he works. A shiver runs through me before I can stop it.
“You chose this on purpose,” he murmurs.
“I figured if I was going to be judged, it might as well be memorable,” I say, my voice lighter than what I’m feeling.
“Mission accomplished.” His voice is controlled in the way he gets when he’s holding something back.
I glance at him in the mirror and regret it immediately. His eyes are locked on me, steady and intent, nothing polite or distant in the way he’s looking.
His gaze doesn’t shift from mine in the mirror as he pulls the zipper the rest of the way up in one smooth motion.
He isn’t touching me. He’s choosing not to. And that choice tells me exactly where his head is.
I swallow hard. “You’re going to short-circuit the sales staff if you keep looking at me like that.”
“They deserve it.”
“For what?” I ask quietly.
He holds my gaze in the mirror. “For not recognizing what’s in front of them.”
My breath catches. I turn away first, breaking the contact, because if I don’t, I’m not sure what I’ll say next.
I slip into the dressing room and close the curtain to steady my breathing. The dress clings as I peel it off, the fabric sliding over my skin. My face is hot. I remind myself that this is just a store, just clothes, just a weekend, even as my body disagrees.
I reach for the next dress on the rack. It’s navy, more structured, more coverage. I pull it on, zip it all the way without needing him, and stare at my reflection until my heartbeat slows enough to open the curtain.
