“I will not wear it,” she said—a statement of rebellion though it was a misplaced one.
“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said, leaning in closer. “You will.”
“You cannot make me.” Her resolve seemed shakier when she spoke this time. Evan wondered if the proximity had anything to do with it.
“Make you? Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grinned. “You shall do so with your own free will.”
“That makes me want to not wear it even more,” she protested, but it lacked the same fire that was present when she first came marching in. He had managed to subdue her, even if just a little.
She would come around, he thought to himself. It was only a matter of time. So instead of standing there and continuing their argument, Evan gave her a small nod and made his way towards the door.
“Enjoy your evening, sweetheart,” he said before he left. “I look forward to seeing you in it.”
“You are staring.”
Evan had not realized he had stopped mid step until Isadora’s voice brought him back to his senses.
He blinked. Once. Twice. And then, as if nothing at all had happened, he smirked.
“Have I been? Well, you cannot blame me.” he purred in response. “I was merely taking note of the fact that you listened. What happened to ‘I will not wear the dress’,” he imitated her tone, amused, and then pointed to her dress,the gownwhich he had gotten for her. Despite her protests, the Duchess had worn it after all.
“I did not wish to waste it,” she argued, but it lacked conviction.
“Right. That was theonlyreason,” he chuckled softly. “And not because it was theonlychoice.”
“It was not the only choice.” Isadora folded her arms out in front of her. “I will have to know that I had plenty of options to choose from.”
Evan shook his head, laughing. “You know, the way that you love to argue makes me think that you were a barrister in another life. Always so ready to spar at any given moment of time—even when you’re in the wrong.”
His gaze flitted down to her dress again, and he knew that he had made the correct choice in buying it for her. And despite her absurd protests, it did not matter to him just how many dressesshe had already. She could have hundreds of the finest dresses, but none of them would hold a candle to the one that she had one tonight. The dress looked magnificent on her.
The emerald silk clung to her in all the right places, the off-the-shoulder design accentuating her graceful collarbones. She looked even better than he had imagined she would.
He was not a poet nor a romantic, but looking at her now, he found himself feeling inspired to pen something down for her.
“Evan.”
He blinked again, realizing she was frowning at him now.
“If you do not stop looking at me like that,” she warned, “I will turn around and change into another gown.”
“You will do no such thing,” he chuckled and then realizing that she sounded serious, added, “Do not even think about it, Isadora.”
“That is too bad, because I already am,” she challenged him.
“Isadora,” he warned in a low voice, but she smirked back at him, toying the fabric and swishing it in front of him.
“It really is too bad because we are going to late because of this,” she said, “but I really must?—”
He had enough. In a single step, he closed the distance between the both of them and leaned down to whisper in her ear, his hands catching the back of her waist.
“You look stunning, Isadora. Don’t youdarechange out of that dress.”
She froze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Evan hoped that she would drop the topic there, but no, Isadora narrowed her eyes at him—in both disbelief and frustration.
“That is the first compliment you have ever given me,” she muttered.
“Then cherish it,” Evan grinned, offering his arm, “because they mean something coming from me.”
