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We stop at Elliot’s for a quick bite. The risotto is creamy and rich, studded with mushrooms and truffle oil. I manage a few bites before my stomach starts to protest, but it’s progress. Brandon doesn’t comment, but I see the slight nod of approval as he watches me eat and then proceed with my usual salad.

By the time we arrive at my husband’s place, the sun is setting, casting long shadows across the hardwood floors.

Calling him my husband feels oddly right. But would I actually say yes if he asked?

How long would be appropriate to wait? We’re already practically a married couple, at least, that’s what Sebastian and Blake used to joke about in college. Wait.

Am I really thinking about marrying him? I need to get a grip. He buys me clothes, and suddenly I’m imagining wedding vows?

Maybe he even planned this, planted the idea in my head, that little…

My husband.

The clothes from Élysée already arrived, nestled beside the door in a flurry of tissue paper, ribbons and beautiful paper bags. This is too much.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

He captures my wrist tenderly, almost hesitant, and when I look up, his eyes search mine. “You okay?”

Am I? This—I don’t want to go to the bathroom to purge. I need a moment to myself. “I am.”

He holds my gaze a beat longer, as if weighing whether to say more. Then he nods, releasing my wrist. “Take your time.”

I walk slowly to the bathroom, each step an effort to pull myself back together. When I close the door behind me, I don’t lock it. Instead, I lean against it, letting the cool wood seep into my skin.

Why is he doing this? No. Why am I fighting it so hard? He’s right: it feels good. The dress, the food, his unyielding support. It all feels so damn good that it’s terrifying.

I splash water on my face and pat it dry with a plush towel. The woman in the mirror looks different, softer around the edges, less brittle, and more alive.

Is this who I could be with him?

There’s nothing. No need to purge.

It’s good I only took a few bites. Maybe that’s the reason.

I wash my hands and reach for the door handle. It doesn’t move. I frown, jiggling it harder. Still nothing.

“Brandon?” I call out. “The door’s stuck.”

“Give me a second,” he calls back.

“What are you doing?” I can hear him moving around.

“Patience, cupcake.”

I roll my eyes. “Brandon, I swear to god, if you’ve planned another surprise?—”

The door swings open, and I nearly tumble into his chest. He catches me with a grin. “Surprise.”

I right myself, smoothing down my dress. “What are you up to now?”

He walks aside, gesturing for me to exit the bathroom. I’m ready to give him an earful, but the words die on my tongue as I take in the transformed bedroom.

Candles flicker on every surface, casting a warm glow over the space. Rose petals are scattered across the bed, a bottle of champagne chills in a silver bucket on the nightstand, and soft music plays in the background.

“What the fuck?”

THIRTY

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