Page 51 of Wicked God
I want to believe her, but I’m old enough to know better than to trust in fairytales.
I finally step out of the fitting room, reaching for my credit card as the shopping assistant begins to wrap the blue dress like something precious. My phone vibrates; Tiffany’s name flashes on the screen. I silence it, the unease settling in my gut.
“Is everything alright, Miss?” the assistant asks.
“Yes, thank you.” My credit card is out, ready; I’m already bracing for the sticker shock. “I’ll take it.”
The assistant smiles. “There’s no need, Ms. Jackson. Your fiancé already called. The dress is paid for.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Mr. Alexander Hawthorne paid in advance. He said it was a gift for his fiancée.”
My jaw drops. “What? But... how did he...?”
I stand there, blindsided. Cassandra doesn’t bother hiding her satisfaction. “He may not like me, my ass,” she mutters. “At leasthe knows you well enough to realize you wouldn’t use his credit card.”
“He only wants to make sure I look good for tonight,” I reason.
Cassandra wrinkles her nose, but her grin doesn’t falter. “If you say so.”
“Alex is thoughtful.”
“Yeah? Thoughtful enough to buy you a dress that costs more than my yearly rent. Admit it, Liv, you’ve hit the jackpot.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “I suppose I have.”
And it seems too good to be true.
Hours later, I stand before the full-length mirror in Alex’s apartment, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The blue dress hugs my curves, its color making my eyes pop. My hair cascades down my back in soft waves, and my makeup is subtle yet glamorous.
You can do this, Olivia, I tell my reflection, smoothing down the front of the dress with trembling hands. It’s just one night. One very public, very important night.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t hear the door open. It’s only when I catch a glimpse of Alex in the mirror that I realize he’s entered the room. I turn, my breath catching in my throat as I take in his appearance. He’s devastatingly handsome in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair artfully tousled. His eyes rake down my body like hands, and I swear his pupils darken.
“Jesus, Liv,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual. “You’re going to kill me.”
He closes the distance in three long strides. I brace for his arms—his lips—but he just stands there, inches away, as if I’m anart piece he’s afraid to touch. My skin tingles all over. Finally, he brushes the underside of my chin with his knuckles, gentle and reverent.
“We should cancel the party,” Alex says. “And just stay at home.”
Suddenly, the idea seems wildly appealing. I look up at him through my lashes. “Is that an option?”
A smile tugs at his mouth, the dimple in his left cheek deepening. “There would probably be riots in the boardroom. And possibly from your friend Cassandra.”
I huff a laugh. “She’s expecting me to send selfies from the bathroom. She thinks you’ll be all over me all night.”
He leans in then, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “She’s not wrong.”
His hands find my waist, pulling me into him with a confidence that sparks heat in my veins. I feel myself melting into him, my hands sneaking up to smooth his lapels, to remind myself that this is real. That he’s real. All mine—even if only for one glorious, amazing year.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
He takes my hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. “As long as you’re by my side, I think I can handle anything.”
God, if I could bottle this feeling—this weightlessness and giddiness—I’d never need coffee or sleep again.
I rest my hands on his chest. “Then let’s give them a show.”
