Page 88 of Safe Place

I move closer and untie the ribbon from the larger box first, carefully peeling back the tissue paper.

Inside is a long black silk dress.

Simple but elegant. It’s breathtaking.

The fabric is weightless beneath my fingertips—cool, smooth, and whisper-soft. It has thin straps, a subtle cowl neckline, and dips just slightly lower in the back. I hold it up against my body. There’s a high slit on one side that’s more suggestive than revealing. It’s understated in the most stunning, timeless way. I run my hand down the length of it, and my heart quietly spirals.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, barely above a whisper.

I lift the second box and pop the lid.

Inside are a pair of delicate black heels—sleek and minimal, with thin straps that wrap around the ankle and a thin heel. They match the dress perfectly.

“How did you know my size?” I ask, turning to him.

His lips curve into a grin. “Come on, baby. You should know by now that I’m obsessed with you.”

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as warmth spreads through my chest.

“I wanted tonight to feel like something,” he says, quieter now. “Even if we’re not in Bora Bora.”

I glance down at the dress and heels again, my fingers brushing the silk like it might disappear. Then I look up at him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “But I wanted to.”

MICAH

She’s been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes now.

I’m already dressed—black button-down, sleeves rolled, no tie. I sit back on the edge of the bed, watching the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling window, but I keep glancing toward the door like it might open sooner if I will it.

“You okay in there?” I call out.

“I borrowed some of Poppy’s makeup,” she says through the door. “But I think I did it wrong. My eyeliner’s uneven.”

I smile. “I’m sure you look perfect.”

There’s a pause. “That’s because you haven’t seen me yet.”

I want to tell her I don’t need to. That she could walk out here in a hoodie and a bare face and I’d still be like the luckiest guy alive. But I don’t say any of that. I wait.

And then the door opens.

And I forget how to breathe.

The dress fits like it was made for her—long and black and impossibly elegant. Her hair’s tied in a low bun, her skin glowing, her lips a little shiny from gloss. But it’s the look in her eyes—uncertain, like she doesn’t quite believe she belongs in something this beautiful—that knocks the air from my lungs.

She tries readjusting the dress. “Too much?”

I shake my head. “No. You’re perfect.”

She fidgets. “You’re staring.”

“I’m trying not to.” My voice comes out lower than I meant. Rougher. I clear my throat and stand, walking over to her. I lean down, brushing my lips just behind her ear. “But fuck, Soph. I can’t wait to rip this off you after dinner.”

Her breath hitches, and I grin when I feel her melt a little.