Lilian’s POV
There are certain ways a woman expects to enter a room. Walking is the standard method. Striding, if one is feeling confident. Sashaying, if one is feeling dangerous.
Being carried like a prize hog wrapped in high-thread-count Egyptian cotton was not on my bingo card.
“Alexander,” I whispered, clutching his neck as he navigated the hallway. “This is excessive. I have feet. They’re currently on strike, yes, but they still exist.”
“You’re barefoot,” Alexander noted, not even looking down. “The floors are cold. And you’re naked.”
“I’m in a sheet,” I corrected, pulling the white fabric tighter around my throat. “It’s a toga. A very…unstructured toga.”
“It’s a napkin,” he grumbled. “And it’s slipping.”
He hiked me higher up his chest. The movement pressed my bare skin agains
