And that nothing will ever be the same.
Later that evening, I gesture to the garment bag hanging in the corner. “Well, I got the dress. The rest is up to you.”
Sarah beams, practically bouncing up and down as she unzips the bag to reveal the wine-colored gown inside. The fabric gleams under the light, rich and smooth, with a neckline that plunges just enough to feel daring but not overly scandalous. The slit up one leg is tasteful, though it still makes me blush when I think about how much skin it shows.
“You’re going to slay, queen,” she declares, holding it up against me. “Now, off with the boring clothes. We’ve got work to do.”
I laugh again at her infectious energy and quickly change. The cool silk of the gown slips over my skin, molding to my body like it was made for me. When I’m finished, Sarah’s face lights up.
“Okay, wow,” she says, circling me like an artist appraising her masterpiece. “You look… I mean, damn, Geneva. Picasso!”
She kisses the tips of her fingers, and I laugh again as I turn toward the mirror. The dress hugs my curves in all the right places, the burgundy setting off the warmth of my skin and the dark waves of my hair. The neckline draws attention to the slope of my collarbone, while the slit reveals just enough of my leg to feel provocative.
“Too much skin?” I ask, gesturing to the open back.
“Not enough,” Sarah quips. She runs out of my bedroom and quickly returns, dragging a chair into my bathroom. “Sit. Hair time. We’re going full old-Hollywood glam.”
I settle onto the chair, and she gets to work, pulling my hair into loose waves that cascade over one shoulder. As she works, I glance at my reflection, my lips curving into a small smile. The Geneva staring back at me feels… different.Alive.
The memory of Ghost’s hands on my skin, and the way he murmured my name like it was something delicious, flutters through my mind, sending heat rushing to my cheeks.
“Why do you look like you’ve got a naughty secret?” Sarah asks, narrowing her eyes at me in the mirror.
I bite back a laugh, shaking my head. “Do I?”
“Mm-hmm.” She smirks, gently tugging a lock of my hair. “There’s a glint in your eyes. Something spicy. Did you meet someone?”
“No,” I lie. “I had a sexy dream last night. The stuff of legends.”
She waggles her eyebrows. “Niiiiice. Hold on to it. You’re glowing tonight. Care to share any of the details?”
“I can’t without covering my face and ruining your makeup.”
“Don’t you dare.”
When she finishes a while later, I stand, running my hands down the smooth fabric of the gown. I look taller, more statuesque. Sophisticated. Sultry.
I wish Ghost could see me like this.
“You look like a damn goddess,” Sarah says, stepping back to admire her work. “Everyone at the banquet is going to donate something after seeing you. If they don’t, screw them.”
I grin at her in the mirror, a genuine smile that isn’t enough to convey my gratitude. “Thanks, Sarah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d survive.” She winks at me. “But you wouldn’t look half as good doing it. Now, go show 'em what your momma gave you.”
CHAPTER 41
GENEVA
The room quiets as I step onto the stage. Instantly, the podium is a barricade between me and the audience, a shield I’m grateful for. My speech is neatly printed, the outline memorized, but my chest tightens as I shuffle the papers, forcing myself to exhale slowly.
You’ve done this before. It’s just another lecture.
Except it isn’t. I’ve added a personal touch, something that I don’t usually do, and the stakes are higher. Donors, alumni, and faculty members are all waiting to hear me deliver insight into the enigma they know as Ghost. They’re hungry for the polished, clinical observations that paint him as a fascinating puzzle, a cautionary tale of psychopathy.
They have no freaking idea.
“Good evening,” I begin, my voice steady, carrying just enough warmth to pull the audience in. “It’s an honor to stand before you tonight, not just as a keynote speaker, but as someone whose journey began here, within the walls of this very university.
