I stared at the closet like it was a battlefield. What to wear? Red? Too obvious. Black? Too somber. White? Too bridal.
Then I saw it: silk, emerald green, hugging my curves, low at the back, teasing at the front—just enough to tempt a second glance. Max hated it. He felt it was too clingy and exposed lots of flesh. Perfect. Julian would get it.
Heels added height, hair pinned up with strands framing my collarbone. The slit whispered promises up my thigh.
The doorbell rang at exactly eight.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t smile. I didn’t hesitate.
Julian leaned against the frame, a bottle of wine dangling from two fingers. His eyes roamed me. “You wore it,” he said, voice thick.
“You asked,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in.”
He brushed my arm as he passed. Heat radiated off him. Black shir
