I do as he says, lifting my gaze to meet Sinclair’s emerald irises in the mirror. I feel like I might become hypnotized in their depths, but his expression is warm and open. “You might not be a she-wolf, but you are carrying my heir, and you are my date for the festival.” He slides his strong arms around my waist from behind, still staring at me through the looking glass, “This is not a sham. This is right.”
I have to admit that side by side, we make a striking couple. Sinclair is so tall and dark, rugged yet classically handsome – as if all his features have been carved from stone. In my heels my head actually reaches his shoulder, and though I look very small and delicate beside him, the fine clothes and jewelry make me look like a woman deserving of all his strength and power, not just
