He smiles. Slowly. Dangerously.
"Relax. I asked them to put everything I need in the wardrobe. I chose them myself."
I smile at his foresight, at that almost obsessive need to have every detail under control.
"Thank you."
But when I open the closet, I freeze.
My God.
These swimsuits cover nothing. Barely taut threads against the skin. Pure provocation.
"What's wrong?" Julian asks, approaching.
"What's wrong?" I turn to him, my eyes wide. "What you chose makes being naked almost indistinguishable. Don't you think?"
He comes closer. His bare feet on the wood. His torso half-naked beneath a white linen shirt, buttons undone. Hair disappearing into his trousers.
“Of course there’s a difference, Zara,” his low, husky voice scrapes my ear. “Those little pieces of fabric will
