Page 42 of Fake it for Keeps

14

HALLIE

The dress Frankie sent was gorgeous. And completely terrifying.

I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing myself. The dress was black, a color I truly loved. And yes, black was a color. My love for black clothing started back in high school when I was told it was slimming.

I didn’t know about that, but I did feel confident in black, and it just kind of worked for any occasion.

The soft fabric hugged my curves in a way that made me feel both powerful and exposed. It had long sleeves that ended in delicate points over my hands, and the neckline was a sophisticated scoop that showed just enough cleavage. The dress cinched across my waist with ruching that was always very flattering.

God bless whoever invented pleats.

The waist flowed into the skirt, flowing out a little and ending just above my knees. It made my body look like an hourglass instead of the pear shape I usually saw in the mirror.

I had paired it with the heels Frankie sent—black stilettos that added three inches to my height and made my legs look longer than they actually were. I swore, the dress made me look twenty pounds lighter. Frankie had a damn good eye.

My hair was down, falling in loose waves over my shoulders. I’d done my makeup carefully, with smoky eyes, nude lips, and just enough blush to give me color without looking overdone.

I looked like I belonged in Colt’s world. The thought made my stomach twist.

“You almost ready?” Colt called from the living room. “Our reservation’s in twenty minutes.”

I took one last look in the mirror, straightened my shoulders, and opened the bathroom door.

Colt was standing by the window, his back to me as he adjusted his cufflinks. He wore a charcoal suit that had clearly been tailored to his mouth-watering body. His dark hair was styled perfectly, and even from behind, he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread.

It was pretty easy to understand why he was so damn cocky. A man that looked as good as he did kind of had the right to be that confident.

He turned when he heard the door and his eyes widened just a bit. Then his gaze dropped to my toes and slowly traveled up my body, lingering in places that made my skin heat.

“You clean up nice,” he said finally.

“So do you,” I admitted grudgingly. “Although you compliments leave room for improvement.”

“Noted.” He offered his arm. “Ready to perform?”

I took it, trying to ignore the way my pulse jumped at the contact. “As I’ll ever be.”

The restaurant was everything I’d expected and worse. Intimate lighting. White tablecloths. Crystal and silver gleaming on every surface. A pianist in the corner playing something classical and romantic. And so many people, all dressed to the nines, all turning to look when we walked in.

The maître d’ practically fell over himself welcoming us, leading us to what was clearly the best table in the house. Center of the room. Maximum visibility.

Of course.

I felt every pair of eyes on us as we walked. Heard the whispers start immediately.

“Is that Colt Jesson?”

“Who’s the woman with him?”

“I heard they’re engaged.”

“I heard she’s got giant fingers.”

That last one stung more than it should have.

Colt pulled out my chair, playing the part of the attentive fiancé for our audience.