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She might not be too sure about this now. But give it a few hours and she’ll feel like a whole new woman. Or at least, that’s what the professionals promised me.
* * *
I didn’t hear from Emmie or the women all day.
It was a risk, leaving them to it, but at some point, I have to start trusting that Emmie won’t run at the first opportunity. And the moment the beauty therapists left and the hairdresser and makeup artist arrived would have been the perfect time, if she wanted to take it.
It didn’t matter that I’d threatened to withhold payment if they let her out, I’m pretty sure those women’s morals might just come above my entitlement. Something I’d usually admire, if it didn’t mean keeping Emmie close to me.
But when I walk down to my bedroom later that evening to get showered and dressed for what I already know is going to be one of my most painful evenings of the year, I hear her laughing with the hair and makeup team behind her bedroom door.
Maybe she did enjoy herself after all.
I’m smiling like a sap when I step into my room and pull my tux from the wardrobe.
Images of how the dress I chose might look on Emmie fill my mind, and my cock swells. I have no idea how I’m meant to spend the entire night making small talk with Dad’s associates when I already know that all I’m going to be thinking about is peeling that fabric from her body.
Only thirty minutes later and I’m standing in front of the mirror, perfecting my bowtie when I hear the women leave and Emmie’s shoes against the wooden floor outside my room.
She pauses at my door, but she doesn’t come in or say anything. Instead, she continues down to the living room.
I give her two minutes before pulling my jacket on and following her out, my need to see how the dress looks is too much to deny.
I’m only wearing my socks, so my movements are somewhat quieter than hers in her heels.
My breath catches the second I step into the living room.
She’s standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of the city in the distance and a lamp on the other side of the room, the only things that illuminate her.
Even from the back, I can tell that that dress fits her like a second skin. Intricate lace covers her back before a full-length skirt flows to the floor where she’s got a train that matches the back.
I stand there for the longest time, taking in her beautiful curves and the stunning lines of her body.
“I know you’re staring,” she says without looking back.
“How could I not? You look— fuck,” I breathe when she finally spins and faces me. “Shit, Emmie. You’re breathtaking.”
The front of the dress is so simple, but it doesn’t need to be anything else with the way it fits to her body.
Her makeup is dark, just as she likes it, but it’s utterly flawless, her eyes smoky and her lips stained a deep, luxurious red.
“Do I look like a princess?”
“Nah, babe,” I say, taking a step toward her. “You look like a motherfucking queen.”
Her lips twitch, but she can’t fight her reaction, and in the end, a wide smile spreads across her face.
“It’s a nice dress,” she says, smoothing down the full skirt. “Thank you.”
“Nice? Babe, it’s way better than nice. The second I saw it, I knew you’d look stunning in it.”
“Careful, Theo. You’re edging dangerously close to sweet boyfriend material.”
“Not a chance, Em,” I say, stepping up right in front of her. “Because,” I add, reaching into my jacket pocket for something else,“I’m not your boyfriend. I’m your husband. And my wife always gets the best of everything.”
She gasps when she sees the ring box in my hand, but that’s nothing compared to the huge breath she sucks in when I flip it open.
Her eyes are like saucers as she stares at the ring I chose for her while my heart slams so hard in my chest I start to get a little light-headed.
