Phantom arrives at seven sharp, bouquet in hand—begonias and lilies bursting with color, their petals vivid against the fading light. His smirk is easy, but his luminous blue eyes darken as they sweep over my outfit. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as though the sight of me steals his breath.
“Princess.” His voice is low, deliberate. “You look lethal.”
“You like my dress?” I twirl, emerald silk catching the glow of the lamp above. The fabric whispers against my skin, shimmering with each movement. I’ve worn more dresses in Rome, Georgia than in my entire life, but tonight Al’s wardrobe tempted me. After wavering between four choices, I settled on this one: emerald silk, flared skirt floating just above my knees, a tasteful V-neck lending feminine grace. It’s the cutest, most comfort
