Page 27 of Royally Ruined

Sammy and Lula spoke a simultaneous“No.”

I froze in place while I waited for them to explain. Lulabelle came my way until her lips were nearly touching my ear; she used such a soft whisper it gave me goose bumps. “Francesca has trouble letting go of the past. As long as you’re close to my brother, I wouldn’t bother trying to win her over.”

It was a warning that vibrated with pain. Was this about Costello somehow, and not Francesca’s absent husband?

Lulabelle left, but neither she nor Fran returned. Sammy walked me back to the hotel with Mama Badd, both of them apologizing for the other women. Neither of them gave me any good reasonwhyeveryone was acting weird, and I didn’t press. It was a relief when they said goodbye to me in the lobby.

Family drama,I mused to myself.What a concept.I’d witnessed very little of it growing up. My mother and father were sickeningly in love, they always supported my choices, and as far as they knew ... I’d never done anything worth getting upset over.

Stepping into my hotel room, I nearly tripped over the box on the floor. “What?” Bending down, I set the long white container on the bed. Tiny raindrops of anticipation pattered along my spine. They increased even after I opened the gift to reveal the rose-colored dress inside.

“This ... What?” I asked the empty room for a second time. Lifting the outfit high, I hung it down my body. Whoever had gotten this for me had done a good job guessing my height. Being tall had always made shopping an exhausting chore; things were usually too short on me.

Swaying in a circle, I hugged the dress as if it were a lover.Where did this come from?Even as I wondered, deep down, I was sure of the answer.Costello ... did he realize how out of place I’d look at the wedding in my jeans?Slowing down, I clutched the soft material in my fingers. I wanted it to be a genuine gift.

That wasn’t Costello’s way.

It’s all about business,I reminded myself.Everything he does has a purpose.Keeping me hidden was another job for him. Same as searching me for a wire, nothing more. I stripped my sweater off and started to tug the jeans down. They had sealed themselves to my hips—or maybe they’d shrunk. Were theyreallythat much smaller than me? Putting my thumbs in my pockets for leverage, I touched a tiny, hard bead.

My nose piercing glinted in the light when I held it high. I’d stashed it there to complete my disguise.I bet the hole is already closed,I thought, touching the edge of my nose. It’s funny how certain parts of us heal faster than the rest. I hid the stud away again.

I was never one for fancy clothes, so dressing in the pale pink gown was an experience. The threads were silky, warm as they hugged my waist. It had a high collar, like a turtleneck, but the upper chest was cut open to show off some skin. Spinning in it, I admired how it made me look ... no, how it made mefeel.

The best part was that it was long enough to hide my sneakers; there were no heels in the box. I didn’t mind, heels always made me tower over people.Not Costello,I mused, touching my throat and imagining him buying the dress for me.Even when I’m in heels, he’s taller than me.

“It fits you perfectly,” a thick male voice whispered behind me.

I twirled like a top, the material clinging so tight it barely shifted. My own hair fell into my eyes; I was partially blind. That didn’t keep me from swelling with desire at the sight of Costello Badd.

His jet clothes had been replaced. In a silver vest, black long-sleeved shirt, and matching slacks, he was the epitome of dark and handsome.

Oh God, say something! But what something? Go for being honest!“You look hot,” I said.Dammit! Too honest!“I mean—uh, good. You look good.”Like a million-dollar-prize-on-a-game-show level of good.I didn’t say that last part, but the edge of his sharp smirk hinted that the damage was done; I’d made my feelings pretty obvious.

Adjusting the front of his vest, he said, “We match.”

“Huh?”

“Your nails.” Pointing at my manicure, Costello approached in his usual hunter-on-the-prowl way. When he lifted my hand to study the silvery nails, I held perfectly still. “Did you know what I’d be wearing?”

His face was close to mine, his touch scalding me. One second. Two seconds. Uncountable seconds passed in which I forgot I was supposed to respond. “I ... No.” I sought for some of my normal fire. Costello was smothering it—but I still had a spark. “Light pink is my favorite color. How did you know that?”

“At the club,” he said, not letting go of me, “all the waitresses had on heels. But not you. You were wearing those.” He motioned at my sneakers with their pink stripes up the sides. “It was an educated guess.”

“Huh. It was a good guess, Sherlock.” I peeked at him through my lashes. “I didn’t tell you what size I wore, though. Explain that to me.”

Wickedness danced through his hot stare; his grip tightened. “That was easy to figure out. After running my hands down your body, I just ...” The smirk became a small frown—not an angry one, but like he was trying to bite his tongue and control himself. “I have a good memory,” he finished softly.

Tension went through my belly to my knees.He felt me up in the club, and that was enough to imprint my body’s dimensions in his brain.It was impressive and terrifying and a turn-on, all at once.

I sensed how he hesitated before letting go of my fingers. “We should hurry,” he said, showing me his wide, straight shoulders from behind. He faced the exit like looking at me was too much for him. “The ceremony is soon, and I need to be there early.”

Running my palms over my stomach to dry the clammy sweat, I nodded. “Okay. It’s not like I’ve got the supplies on me to do a makeover, anyway. Just give me one second.”

The most I could do with my hair was smooth it down in the wall mirror near the bed. The reflection let me see behind me—to the doorway.

Costello waited halfway inside the room, like my own private bodyguard.

But he wasn’t watching the hallway for danger.

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