She knew his favorite color was navy blue.
She had known it for years, the way you know small things about people you have watched closely for too long. He wore it often. Navy ties, navy shirts under his suits, a dark navy coat he kept by the front door of the mansion like it belonged there. It was the color of control, she had always thought. Quiet and deliberate, like the man himself.
So that morning Aurora stood in front of her wardrobe for exactly four minutes and pulled out the navy blue dress.
It was not inappropriate. She wanted to be clear about that, at least to herself. It was fitted but not tight. It stopped above the knee but not scandalously so. The neckline was modest. She had worn it to her cousin's birthday dinner two years ago and her mother had called it elegant.
But
