Mr. Harrington's smile doesn't falter, but something shifts in his eyes, and I can’t find it in me to care what he was thinking. "Of course. Right this way, gentlemen."
He leads us to a private fitting area at the back of the store, where three separate dressing rooms branch off from a central space. The room feels smaller than I remember, especially with James's tall frame filling more space than I'm used to.
"I had pulled several options in your usual style, Mr. Huntington," Mr. Harrington says, gesturing to garment bags already hanging in one dressing room. “If you’ll just give me a few minutes, I will change these for dark suits instead. For Mr. Hunter, we'll need to take measurements first. If you'll step this way, sir?"
James follows him to a platform, looking very uncomfortable as Mr. Harrington retrieves his measuring tape.
"Arms out, please," the tailor instructs. "This will only take a moment."
James submits to the measuring process, his expression growing more pained with each number. Mr. Harrington calls them out to an assistant who appears with a notepad. Each measurement is announced clearly: shoulders, chest, waist, and inseam.
"You weren't kidding about the full treatment," James mutters when Mr. Harrington steps away to gather a few sample suits for us to try on.
"Welcome to my world. Where even your body measurements are a matter of family record."
"Seventeen years," Mr. Harrington announces as he returns, answering a question no one asked. "That's how long the Huntingtons have been clients. I fitted your first formal suit when you were twelve, Mr. Huntington. For your cousin Amelia's wedding, if I recall correctly."
"You have an excellent memory," I say politely, though I'm cringing inside at the reminder of how my family has orchestrated my life.
"We have several options for Mr. Hunter based on his measurements," Mr. Harrington continues. "If you'd like to try the first one, sir?"
James accepts a garment bag and disappears into a dressing room, leaving me alone with Mr. Harrington's knowing gaze.
"Your mother called ahead," he informs me quietly. “She mentioned you'd be bringing a guest. First time, isn't it?"
The implication is clear. I've never brought a date to a family function before; I've always attended solo or with whoever my mother arranged.
"Yes." Anything I say might be repeated back to someone in my family, so it's better to be succinct.
"Well, your mother will be pleased to see you with appropriate company," he says, missing or ignoring my discomfort. "She was concerned after the... incident... with that Christopher fellow."
My body and mind freeze. Christopher. The name alone sends a cold wave through me.Even the tailor knows. So much for my parents keeping it quiet."That was a long time ago." My voice is beyond stiff.
"Of course, of course," Mr. Harrington backpedals, sensing he's overstepped. "I only meant?—"
He's interrupted by the dressing room door opening, and I turn to see James coming out in a gorgeous black suit. The transformation is immediate and startling. The formal wear emphasizes his height, the broad shoulders tapering to a trim waist. He's almost unfairly attractive.
"Well?" he asks, looking uncomfortable under our stares.
"It's..." My throat is tight, and I have to clear it, suddenly aware that I've been staring. "It fits well."
"The shoulders need minor adjustment," Mr. Harrington says, stepping forward to tug and pin areas of the jacket. "And the pants require hemming. But the cut suits your frame excellently, Mr. Hunter."
James catches my eye in the mirror, raising an eyebrow in silent communication.Is this normal?His expression seems to ask.
Nodding slightly, hoping he understands that yes, this is exactly how it always goes. Every detail analyzed, every imperfection noted and corrected, the Huntington way.
"Try this one next," Mr. Harrington suggests, handing James another garment bag. "A more modern cut that might better complement Mr. Huntington's style."
As James returns to the dressing room, I slip into my own dressing room to try on the suit selected for me. It fits perfectly, of course. They always do.
When I come out, I find James already on the platform in the second suit, a slightly more fitted style with a shawl collar that somehow makes him look even taller and more imposing.
Holy shit.
The suit fits him like it was explicitly designed to destroy my composure. Every line emphasizes his build; the broad shoulders, the way the jacket nips at his waist, how the pants...
Nope. Not going there.Not while standing in Montgomery's with Mr. Harrington hovering nearby.
