The invitation hadn't come via a formal card or a whispered secret in the kitchen. It had arrived as a succinct text while Briar was pulling a tray of rosemary focaccia from the oven: Dinner at the O-Club tonight. 1900 hours. My inner circle. I want them to meet the woman I’m fighting to get back to.
Now, with fifteen days left on the countdown, Briar stood before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, smoothing out the skirt of a deep emerald wrap dress. It was elegant but understated- a far cry from the shimmering vulnerability of the Gala gown. Tonight wasn't about being a princess; it was about being a partner.
"You look like you're going to a board meeting," Archer remarked, leaning against her doorframe. He was in his dress blues, looking sharp and uncharacteristically solemn.
