Page 25 of The Sentinel

More than once, people had mistaken him for my boyfriend. He was obviously gay—once you looked past the devastating good looks and the effortless, masculine charm. But at first glance? Especially in places like Charleston, where people still clung to certain expectations? They saw a gorgeous man at my side and drew their own conclusions.

Diego never bothered to correct them right away. He loved playing into it, especially when it annoyed someone.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Diego, focus.”

“Oh, I am focused,” he said, plucking the invitation off the nightstand and twirling it between his fingers. “But before we dive into the grand conspiracy portion of our program, let’s address the absolute most important detail of this masquerade—what the hell are you wearing?”

I hesitated. Then, begrudgingly, I muttered, “Marcus sent me dresses.”

Silence.

Then—

“Excuse me?” Diego sat up so fast he nearly toppled off the chaise. “Marcus Dane personally sent you dresses?”

I sighed, kicking off my heels. “Yes.”

“As in, hand-selected ballgowns for you?” His voice climbed an octave. “Did they come with a note? Roses? An ominous yet sexy threat?”

I gestured toward the closet, where the three garment bags hung neatly inside. “They’re in there.”

Diego was off the sofa in an instant, practically sprinting across the room. “Claire, I swear to God, if one of these is red?—”

He unzipped the first bag. Paused. Let out a soft gasp.

I knew exactly which one he was looking at.

“Oh.Oh.”

I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. “Which one?”

“You know which one.” His voice was reverent. “The silver one. Claire, it’s barely legal. It’s obscene. It’s—” He turned, eyes wide with delighted horror. “It’s the one you have to wear.”

I groaned into my pillow.

Diego yanked the dress free of its bag, holding it up. “This is a power move. He wants you in this because he wants to watch you walk into that ball wearing something that’ll make every man in the room want to rip it off you.” He smirked. “Including him.”

I pushed myself up, rubbing my temples. “Or he just wants to fuck with me.”

He shot me a look. “Honey.”

I sighed, glancing at the dress. He wasn’t wrong. The thing was pure sin—silver, sleek, clinging to curves I hadn’t even realized I wanted to show off. It was bold. Daring. The kind of dress that whisperedI know exactly what I’m doing.

Which meant wearing it was either the worst idea I’d ever had or the best.

“Try it on,” Diego said, waggling his brows.

I hesitated. Then, with a mutteredI hate you, I grabbed the dress and disappeared into the bathroom.

Two minutes later, I stepped out.

Diego sucked in a breath.

“Shut up,” I warned.

He did not shut up.

“Claire.” He clasped his hands together like he was about to cry. “If Marcus Dane doesn’t lose his entire goddamn mind when he sees you in this, I will personally set fire to Dominion Hall.”

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