It’s not that I don’t love dressing up, I just never had the funds to go all out. Even if I did own a spectacular evening gown, it would hardly be appropriate for my usual mode of socializing, which varied between a random drunken college party or an inexpensive club night.
I did go to the MacTavish Foundation Gala last year. They presented me with an award for “Distinguished Performance in Education” and boy, I’ll bet they’d like to take that trophy back now. That time, I’d borrowed one of Maisie’s vast array of dresses.
The masterpiece hanging up in my closet is far grander than anything I’ve ever worn, a vintage Yves Saint Laurent that the MacTavish personal shopper, Collette, had insisted looked perfect for my “classic Grace Kelly look.” I vaguely remember that Grace Kelly was a famous actress turned queen of Monaco, so it was a very nice compliment.
The gown is off-shoulder champagne colored silk, fitted snugly against my curves with a slit on the side high enough that I had to practice sitting down in it to make sure I didn’t flash anyone.
At the moment, I’m contorting like a snake shedding it’s skin - though in reverse - since I’m trying to get the zipper up on thedress. I manage to pull the tight silk up and over my hips, but the zipper has no intentions of cooperating and I’d rather set myself on fire than ask Ian for help.
“Ye look beautiful.”
Letting out an awkward little squawk, I whirl to see Michael leaning against the bathroom door. The stealthy bastard moves so silently that I didn’t even hear him come in. He’s wearing a gorgeously fitted tuxedo that stretches smoothly over his broad shoulders, hair smoothed back, except for a couple of strands falling over his forehead. It’s the kind of look models and celebrities pay stupid amounts of money to achieve, but for Michael, it’s effortless and perfect.
“Um, you look nice, too.” I say awkwardly. This bathroom is huge, twice the size of mine at home, but with him there, it’s crowded, like he’s taking up all the oxygen.
“Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around,” he moves his finger in a circle. “I’ll zip ye up.”
I don’t want to.
He’s too close. If he touches me, my skin’s going to go up in flames. Reluctantly, I turn my back to him and watch in the mirror as he steps closer. Even in my heels, he’s a head taller than I am. His lashes make a thick fan on his cheekbones as he focuses on getting me zipped up.
His breath brushes against my cheek, mint and scotch, and the heat of his body soothes that chilled strip of skin between the opened sides of my dress.
“It’s- the dress is too tight,” I babble, “I should have picked something else, but the stylist-”
“It’s perfect,” he murmurs, his knuckle slowly dragging along my bare skin as he pulls the zipper up, deft fingers fastening the little hook and eye at the top. His hands slowly trail down my sides, smoothing the fabric and settling around my hips. His dark gaze meets mine in the mirror, a slight smile on his lips. “The dress is an inspired choice, wife.”
Wife.
Something sweeps under my skin, something warm. How the sound of the word feels.
“It could use a wee bit of something,” he says thoughtfully.
I look down at the swell of my cleavage against the bodice. “I don’t think anything else can fit.” The sentence comes out sounding dirty, not like how I meant it and I flush when he gives a low chuckle.
A black velvet case appears in front of me and he opens it. Inside, there’s a glittering diamond necklace that ends in a v-shape that fits the line of the dress. “I can’t wear that,” I say, trying to edge away from him. “That’s too expensive. What if I lost it? I’m sure it’s not-”
“It’s necessary,” Michael interrupts. “I knew it would look beautiful against your skin, so smooth and pale…” His voice drops and I swear I can feel it run along my spine like a caress. The cool metal slides across my collarbones as he fastens it around my neck. “There’s earrings as well.”
He’s kinder tonight, a slight smile playing along his lips and the brittle chill in his eyes is gone. “Thank you,” I say, touching the necklace lightly, “It’s gorgeous.” The diamonds have a faint amber hue that flawlessly matches the color of the dress.
He turns me, looking me up and down. “There’s one more thing needed.” Pulling a small box from his pocket, he flips it opento show a wedding ring nestled in blue silk. The diamond is enormous, too big for me to feel comfortable wearing it and here I thought the necklace was going to be my biggest source of anxiety tonight. The diamond is an emerald-cut, surrounded by sapphires on a silver band.
Taking my hand, Michael pulls his loose signet ring off my finger and slides on the wedding band.
It’s beautiful, glittering under the light, and a perfect fit.
“Aye, that’s a ring befitting a MacTavish wife.” He kisses my knuckles but the warmth doesn’t touch me any more.
Of course. For a MacTavish wife. It’s all aboutimage,and nothing to do with me. Not really.
He seems to sense my deflated spirit because he pulls back, searching my eyes. “If ye dinnae like the ring, we can get another. Would ye prefer to pick it?”
My mouth tightens. “No, one is as good as another, I guess.”
