Page 32 of Tricking an Introvert

He opened his mouth to add that the event was exclusive, lavish, and ostentatious; then he closed it again, knowing that it was the one way to ensure he'd head over there alone.

"Great."

He headed over to the guest bathroom and took a quick shower before getting into his suit.

Cole combed his hair, feeling like an idiot.

He kept his hairstyle on the shorter side. He was one to just mess with it for five seconds with a bit of wax. That style, pretty standard for guys of all ages, was absolutely not acceptable to Marie Elizabeth Montgomery-Corvin-Westbrook. Doubling the amount of wax and combing it to one side, he sighed, feeling older and stupider all at once.

The events he attended for his mother were always stressful. This time there was an added amount of pressure he couldn't identify at first. With some introspection, he finally got it.

His issue was that Tessa was going to be there, and he didn't want it to suck. He didn't want his parents to be rude or dismissive, as he knew they were capable of being. He didn't want the gala to bore her. She was important. Relevant.

Coming out of the spare bedroom, he froze in complete and utter shock.

A towel still around her hair, Tessa stood in the middle of the living room, wearing a midnight blue gown with spaghetti straps, poured over her curves. "Will this do?"

He had no words.

She self-consciously turned, looking at her back, sides, running her hands over her lap.

"You're fucking beautiful."

The words shocked her and him in equal measure—he hadn't meant to say them out loud, even if it was the truth.

She turned ten shades of pink, and bit her luscious lips. "Oh, well. It's a vintage thing I got from a used clothes store a while back. I like to buy pretty things, though I don't often wear them. I get that it's not the zenith of fashion or whatever…"

"It's perfect, Tessa."

She was perfect. Even his mother wouldn't be able to find a fault.

Marie Elizabeth had better not point out any imaginary flaw.

"You don't look half bad yourself," she replied, surveying him from head to toes.

Cole watched her closely, intensely, trying to read beyond the politeness, beyond her shyness, beyond his desire.

Did she like what she see? Did she want him?

He just didn't have a fucking clue. But he'd find out.

"I have to do my hair and makeup. Did you mean it, about picking shoes? I'm hopeless."

"Sure, why not?"

"Good. Nothing higher than a couple of inches, all right?"

She led him to her bedroom; her bed was made, and there were a couple of different dresses on top of the purple comforter, all vintage by the look of it.

"Here it is. May the odds be ever in your favor."

She opened a large closet, and suddenly he understood why shoes were such an issue for her.

There were easily a hundred pairs in there, most of them new by the looks of it. Some even had tags still on.

"Jesus."

"I know, I have a problem. And tonight, it's your problem," she announced.

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