The curtain closes behind her, leaving me with the truth of her words.
I wait scrolling in my phone. The curtain parts and Sophia steps out.
The dress is midnight blue, high-necked and long-sleeved, covering her from throat to toe. Appropriate.
Then she turns to check herself in the mirror.
Jesus Christ.
The back is completely open, a dramatic cutout that starts at her nape and plunges all the way down, ending just above the curve of her ass. One wrong move and the dress would reveal everything. The fabric clings to every line of her body, and that exposed strip of skin makes my mouth go dry.
"What do you think?" She looks at me over her shoulder, and I realize she knows exactly what she's doing.
"Try something else."
Her eyebrows lift. "I actually kind of like this one."
She does another slow turn, pretending to examine the dress from different angles. The manager hovers nearby, ready to offer opinions, but one look from me sends her scurrying to the other side of the store.
I stand, closing the distance between us. Sophia watches me approach in the mirror.
I lean in close, my chest nearly touching her back, careful not to make contact with all that exposed skin. To anyone watching, it looks like I'm whispering something sweet in her ear. Playing the devoted fiancé.
"No one," I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear, "is allowed to see you in this dress but me."
She blinks, her lips parting slightly. Then a slow smile spreads across her face, and she tilts her head just enough that her hair brushes my jaw.
"Interesting." She pretends to adjust the neckline, the movement making the back gap slightly wider. "So you do like it then."
"Sophia."
"I mean, you must like it if you want to be the only one who sees it." She meets my eyes in the mirror, all false innocence.
My jaw clenches. The little minx is enjoying this.
"Or maybe," she continues, turning to face me, which brings us dangerously close, "you're worried about what you'll do if other men see me in it. Is that it, Lorenzo? Afraid you'll have to hurt someone?"
"I don't make threats I won't follow through on."
"Who's threatening?" She reaches up, pretending to smooth my collar, her fingers barely grazing my chest. "I'm just trying to understand my fiancé's preferences. For the public narrative, of course."
"Of course."
"So should I get it?" Her hand stays on my chest, and I feel the heat of her palm through my shirt. "For... strategic purposes?"
The manager clears her throat from across the store. "Should I start a fitting room for alterations?"
"No," I say, not breaking eye contact with Sophia.
"Yes," Sophia counters, still looking at me. "I'll take it."
"You're not wearing that in public."
"You're right." She steps back, giving me a view of the dress from the front again - all covered up and proper. "I'll save it for private occasions. When it's just you and me."
She turns and walks back to the changing room, the exposed line of her back taunting me with every step.
"After all," she whispers over her shoulder before disappearing behind the curtain, "we should practice being convincing in private too, don't you think?"
