The Christmas Contract

Chapter 3: The Fitting

The bridal boutique smelled like roses and expensive fabric. Elara stood outside, staring at the gold lettering on the window, wondering if she could just run.

Her phone buzzed.

*Don't even think about it. —L*

She spun around. Logan leaned against a black Mercedes across the street, arms crossed, watching her. He wore dark jeans and a leather jacket. Looked like he'd walked off a magazine cover.

How did he know she'd be here?

He pushed off the car and crossed to her. "Victoria set up the appointment."

"I know. But why are you here?"

"Because you're choosing a dress." He held the door open. "I want to see it."

"That's bad luck."

"I don't believe in luck." His hand pressed against her lower back, guiding her inside. The touch burned through her coat. "I believe in making sure I get what I want."

The boutique owner rushed over, all smiles. "Mr. and Mrs. Hartley! We're so honored—"

"We're not married yet," Elara said quickly.

"But soon!" The woman clasped her hands. "How romantic. A Christmas Eve wedding. And so in love." She gestured between them. "I can see it in the way you look at each other."

Elara's face heated. Logan's hand tightened on her back.

"Let's find you the perfect dress," the woman said. "I'm Amanda. I've pulled several options based on Mrs. Hartley Senior's specifications."

"Wait—Victoria chose them?"

"Just suggestions, dear." Amanda led her toward the dressing area. "But you'll make the final decision, of course."

Logan followed. Amanda didn't stop him.

"Um," Elara said. "He can't come back here."

"Nonsense! Modern couples do this all the time." Amanda winked. "Besides, I can tell he won't take no for an answer."

She wasn't wrong.

---

The first dress was all lace and tulle. Princess style. Beautiful. Completely wrong.

Elara stepped out of the dressing room. Logan sat in a velvet chair, ankle crossed over knee, looking like a predator at rest.

His eyes dragged over her. Slowly. Head to toe.

"No," he said.

"No?"

"It's not you." He stood, circled her. "Too innocent. Too... safe."

Amanda nodded like he'd said something profound. "Let's try something with more edge."

The second dress had a plunging neckline and a slit up the thigh. Elara felt half-naked.

She stepped out. Logan went still.

"Better," he said, voice rough. "But still not right."

"How would you know what's right?" Elara demanded. "You've known me for two days."

He moved closer. Close enough that she could feel his heat. "I know you're not this either. Sexy, yes. But it's trying too hard."

His finger traced her collarbone. Feather-light. She shivered.

"You don't need to try," he murmured. "You just are."

Amanda cleared her throat. "I have one more. Very special. Just arrived from Paris."

She disappeared. Elara stood frozen, Logan's finger still trailing over her skin.

"Stop," she whispered.

"Stop what?"

"Touching me like that. Looking at me like—"

"Like I want to rip that dress off you right here?" His eyes were dark. Hungry. "Can't help it."

"Logan—"

"Try the next one. Please."

The please undid her. Again.

---

The third dress was perfect.

Elara stared at herself in the mirror. Silk and lace, elegant but modern. A sweetheart neckline that showed just enough. The fabric hugged her curves then flowed to the floor. She looked like herself. Just... more.

"Oh my," Amanda breathed. "That's the one."

Elara stepped out.

Logan stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the floor.

He didn't say anything. Just stared.

"Logan?" Her voice was small.

He crossed to her in three strides. His hands framed her face, tilting her head back.

"You're so goddamn beautiful," he said roughly. "Christian was an idiot."

"I—"

"You're going to wear this. Walk down the aisle to me. And I'm going to spend the rest of the ceremony trying not to think about what comes after."

Heat pooled low in her stomach. "What comes after?"

His thumb traced her lower lip. "Use your imagination."

Amanda fanned herself. "I'll just... give you two a moment." She disappeared into the back.

Alone. They were alone in the dressing area.

Logan's hands slid from her face to her shoulders. Down her arms. His touch left fire in its wake.

"This dress," he said. "This is you. Strong. Beautiful. Real."

"It's just a dress."

"No." His hands settled on her waist, pulling her closer. "It's armor. And you're going to need it."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to want you so badly in this, and everyone's going to see it on my face."

Her breath caught. "Logan—"

"Say my name like that again."

It wasn't a request. It was a command.

"Logan," she whispered.

He groaned. His forehead dropped to hers. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then tell me."

"Christian never touched you properly, did he?" His voice was rough. Raw. "Never made you feel like you were everything."

"How would you—"

"Because you look at me like you're starving." His hands tightened on her waist. "And I'm going to feed you, Elara. Every. Single. Night."

The words from the boutique that day. He'd meant them.

She should push him away. Remind him this was fake. Business.

Instead, her hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer.

"Kiss me," she breathed.

Logan's eyes flared. "If I kiss you now, I won't stop."

"Then don't."

He made a sound low in his throat. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back further. His mouth hovered over hers. A breath away.

Her phone rang.

They both froze.

"Ignore it," Logan said.

It rang again. Loud. Insistent.

Elara pulled back, breathless. Fumbling for her phone in her coat pocket. Victoria's name on the screen.

"I have to—"

"Answer it." Logan stepped back, jaw clenched. Hands fisted at his sides like he was fighting himself.

She answered. "Hello?"

"Elara, dear." Victoria's voice was crisp. "I assume you've found a dress?"

"Yes. It's beautiful."

"Excellent. The wedding planner will contact you tomorrow. We have a thousand details to finalize."

"Okay."

"And Elara? Don't forget what this is. Don't let Logan confuse you."

The words were ice water. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. This is a business arrangement. Whatever he says, whatever he does—remember that."

Victoria hung up.

Elara stared at her phone. Her heart was still racing. Her lips still tingling from almost kissing him.

"What did she say?" Logan asked quietly.

"Nothing important."

His eyes searched hers. "You're a terrible liar."

"I need to change." She turned toward the dressing room.

His hand caught her wrist. Gentle. "Elara—"

"Please. I just need a minute."

He let her go.

In the dressing room, she sagged against the wall. What was she doing? Getting swept up in his intensity. His words. His touch.

Victoria was right. This was business.

Wasn't it?

She changed back into her clothes. Logan bought the dress without asking the price. They drove back to her apartment in silence.

At her door, he stopped her. "Whatever my mother said—"

"She's right though. This is temporary. A year. Then we're done."

Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt? Anger? "If that's what you want."

"It's what we agreed to."

"Right." His jaw clenched. "One year."

He left without another word.

---

That night, Elara couldn't sleep again.

She kept thinking about the almost-kiss. The way Logan looked at her in that dress. The heat in his eyes.

*Don't let Logan confuse you.*

She got up, needing water. Needing to think.

Christian's boxes were still in her closet. Things she hadn't been able to go through yet.

Maybe it was time.

She pulled out the first box. Clothes. Books. Random items.

In the second box, tucked under a sweater, she found an envelope.

Her name on the front. Christian's handwriting.

Her hands shook as she opened it.

*Elara,*

*If you're reading this, something's gone wrong. I need you to trust me. Don't believe what they tell you. And whatever you do—don't let Logan near you.*

*He's not who you think he is. He's dangerous. He wants what's mine. He's always wanted what's mine.*

*Please, wait for me. I'll come back for you.*

*I love you.*

*—C*

The date at the top: the day before the crash.

Elara's vision blurred. Her chest constricted.

Christian knew. He knew something was going to happen.

And he'd warned her about Logan.

*He wants what's mine.*

A knock at her door made her jump. She dropped the letter.

She looked through the peephole.

Logan stood in the hallway.

At midnight.

Her heart hammered. Christian's warning echoed in her head.

*Dangerous.*

But when she opened the door, Logan looked... broken.

"I couldn't stay away," he said quietly. "I tried. But I can't stop thinking about you in that dress. About what almost happened."

"Logan—"

"Let me in. Please."

She looked at him. At the man Christian had warned her about. The man who looked at her like she was air and he was drowning.

The letter was on her floor behind her. The warning clear.

She should tell him to leave. Lock the door. Listen to Christian.

Instead, she stepped aside.

Logan walked in.

And saw the letter on her floor.

He went still. Picked it up. Read it.

When he looked at her, his face was devastated. Furious.

"When did you get this?"

"Just now. In his things."

"And you believe it?" His voice was rough. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Christian was paranoid." Logan crumpled the letter. "He thought everyone was out to get him."

"Were you?"

The question hung between them.

Logan's jaw worked. His hands fisted.

"Yes," he finally said. "But not his life. Not his money. Not his status."

He moved closer. Trapped her against the door.

"You. I wanted you. From the moment I saw you. And I hated that he had you. That he treated you like you were nothing when you were everything."

His hand pressed against the door beside her head.

"So believe the letter. Think I'm dangerous. But know this, Elara—I'm the most honest person in your life right now. And that terrifies you more than anything I could do."

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

"Did you know?" she whispered. "About the crash?"

Logan's eyes were anguished. "Let me explain—"

"Did. You. Know?"

Silence.

Then: "Yes."

The word shattered something inside her.

"Get out."

"Elara—"

"GET OUT!"

He left.

The door closed.

And Elara slid to the floor, Christian's warning in her hand, Logan's confession ringing in her ears.

She'd just agreed to marry a man who'd lied to her from the beginning.

A man who might be exactly as dangerous as Christian said.

Or worse.