I leave the phone where it is.
Ethan, at the island with a coloring book, looks up at me.
“You okay, Miranda?”
“I’m okay, buddy.”
“Your face is weird.”
“My face is always weird.”
He giggles.
I go back to chopping carrots. There’s a ring on my finger catching every bit of light in the room. A man’s bedroom upstairs has my toothbrush in it now.
The dress arrivesby courier at six.
A note from Grayson’s publicist mentions silhouettes and lines. I don’t read it. I hang the dress on the back of his bathroom door, standing in front of it for a long minute before I move.
I wash in his shower and use his shampoo because Brooke didn’t pack mine. The scent of him is on my skin now. Using his bathroom, showering here, is all so intimate that I can’t seem to keep it together.
The dress fits as though the publicist measured me through a window. Knee-length, fitted at the waist, a neckline that hides the bruise on my collarbone if I tug one strand of hair forward. I do tug it forward, twice, watching myself in his bathroom mirror.
Behind me in the reflection is his shower. His razor on the shelf. My face cream beside it.
I stare at the woman in the glass and don’t recognize her.
She has her hair down. A ring on her left hand. A dress costing more than her last paycheck. She looks as though she has a life.
I murmur to her, very quietly, that this is not mine. None of this is mine, and I had better not get used to it.
Grayson waits in the foyer wearing a charcoal jacket, dark shirt open at the collar. His hair is pushed back from his face. His amber eyes find me on the third step and stay there for the rest of the staircase.
He doesn’t move.
When I reach the bottom step, he murmurs, “You look beautiful.”
The word comes out raw.
“Yeah, well.” I tug at the dress. “A walrus would look good in this dress. Let’s just go.”
His lips twitch. “Are you that incapable of taking a compliment?”
I swallow, trying to look everywhere but at him. “They make me feel awkward. I don’t know how to deal with them.”
Grayson is silent for a moment, and then he tucks my hand in his elbow. “Well, I can tell you that no sea walrus looks half as good as you right now.”
I snort out a laugh, and when I glance at him, he seems rather pleased with himself.
“Thanks.” The tension has dissipated, and it’s time we head out to put on the show of our lives.
Grayson drives us into town, and we pull up at a small restaurant tucked between two boutiques on a side street. The valet opens my door before I can find the handle. Grayson rounds the car, and his palm settles at the small of my back. We’re walking through the entrance, the host already nodding at us, our arrival expected.
There is a booth in a corner. Candlelight and low music contribute to the ambience. Two glasses of red wine are already poured. Through the window beside us, the street is dark.
The waiter arrives with the menus, and I’m nervous throughout. “I thought we were going to some fancy event,” I mutter. “How are we going to reveal our engagement here?”
Grayson looks amused. “It’s all about subtlety. We are already being watched.”
