Page 91 of Dice & Dekes

“You should let her paint your nails,” Knova says. “I’m thinking purple and green. The Venom colors.”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Please?” She flutters her eyelashes. “For me?”

Under other circumstances, I’d do anything to make her happy, but since I know a few things she doesn’t, I hold my ground. “No. My cuticles may be immaculate, but there’s no way I’m agreeing to that.”

Knova smirks. “How about your toenails? Please?”

Once again, I prove myself a sucker for her and concede.

After our salon reservation ends, I drive her home for a quick shower and change of clothes.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay in tonight?” Knova runs her freshly manicured hand up my thigh, nudging the towel aside.

I gently remove her hand and pull the towel back down, doing my best not to react to the twitch below my belly button. “Later. Tonight’s reservation is… special. It took me a fair bit of finagling to make it happen. Trust me, okay?”

With a reluctant huff, Knova rises from the couch. Her towel clings to the curve of her hips as she stretches, then—without warning—she turns, drops it, and walks away naked. Naked. Just… out of the room, full power stance, not a care in the world. She glances back over her shoulder, eyes glittering with mischief, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

I choke on my own tongue.

My towel starts tenting like it’s auditioning for a Cirque du Soleil act, and I nearly lose it trying to will myself down. Jesus Christ. I press a palm over the cotton and mutter a prayer to any god listening. Not now. Not yet.

Once she disappears into the bathroom, I take a minute to pull myself together. Deep breaths. Cold thoughts. Then I get dressed. Good navy pants—not gray, because apparently that’s a crime unless it’s joggers—and my crisp white shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to the forearms. No tie. No blazer. Instead, I go with my fitted navy sports coat. Sleek, tailored, and just formal enough to say this night matters, while still letting her see the version of me that only she gets. The one who would fight tooth and nail for her.

I’m just straightening my cuffs when I hear a suspicious sound from the bathroom—maybe a drawer slamming or a muffled curse—and I remember she’s already here, and if she sees me spiraling over outfit coordination, I’ll never live it down. I shove two other jackets and a handful of ties into the closet just in time.

Okay. We’re ready.

Let’s go blow her mind.

My remaining thoughts are blasted out of my brain by the sight of Knova in a little black dress that’s somehow even sexier than I thought possible. The cut of the sleeves, the dip of her neckline, and the hem of the skirt all fall in a way that perfectly highlights her curves.

I go to her and slip my arms around her waist. “Maybe we should stay in.”

“Hey, now! Do you know how long I spent on this makeup?” She shoves me playfully aside. “Besides, I’m told this is an important reservation we can’t possibly miss.”

She’s teasing, but my throat tightens anyway. This could go south. She could say no. She could laugh. She could cry for all the wrong reasons. But I have to do this. I want to do this. And that’s how I know it’s real.

Right, the reservation. The culmination of the whole day. “Very true. Speaking of which, we should get going.” I trace my thumb across her collarbone. There’s no familiar chain across her neckline.

Knova turns her head to kiss my knuckles. “Don’t forget, you still owe me a necklace.”

“I won’t forget,” I promise.

We head out to the car, but the doors are locked. I slap my forehead. “Shoot, sorry, I forgot my keys. Be right back.”

Knova frowns at me over the roof of the car. “That’s not like you.”

“I’m not usually wearing dress pants.” I pat my hips for emphasis. “No pockets.”

Knova gestures to her own form-fitting outfit. “Cry me a river, babe. A little free advice? Never complain to a woman about a lack of pockets. You have sisters. You should know this.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Be right back!” As I hustle back to the house, I smile to myself. All it takes is a little teasing, and I can get away without too many questions. I didn’t forget the keys. I had to go back for something else. I scoop up the little velvet box from its hiding place before I grab the car keys.

The wine cellar at the Mona Lisa is a popular restaurant. Usually, people have to jockey for a reservation, but it’s quiet tonight. We’re the only guests, and all the other tables have been moved aside. Our two-top is an island in the middle of the room.

“This is kind of spooky,” Knova stage whispers. “Come to think of it, does this room look familiar? I know I’ve had dinner here a couple of times, but without all the tables… Hang on.” She stops in her tracks. “Viktor, is this where we had our secret disaster wedding?”

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