"Come in," I call, expecting one of the staff.
The door opens. Maksim steps inside, and my pulse accelerates despite every effort to remain composed.
He's wearing a tuxedo. Black, perfectly tailored, the kind of formal wear that transforms already handsome men into something devastating. His blonde hair is swept back, his ice-blue eyes sharp and assessing.
The impact is physical. A punch to my sternum that makes breathing require conscious effort.
"You look beautiful," he says, voice carrying warmth that makes the compliment feel less like flattery and more like fact.
I force myself to smile. To sound normal. "You're quite handsome yourself."
Understatement of the century.
He's holding a small case, black velvet with the Éclat logo embossed in gold. He crosses the room, sets it on my vanity with careful precision.
"I brought you something," he says.
I open the case, and my lungs forget their purpose entirely.
A necklace. Diamonds and rubies arranged in an intricate pattern that's both delicate and bold. The stones catch light and throw it back in red and white fire. It's the kind of piece you see in museums, the kind that makes other jewelry look like costume accessories.
"It's perfect with the dress," I say, because saying anything else might reveal too much about how this affects me.
"I didn't know you were wearing red," Maksim admits. "But I'm glad I chose this combination. I picked it because I thought it would look perfect against your skin."
The words feel like a physical touch.
He picked it. Not his assistant. Not some employee paid to handle details. Maksim himself selected this necklace while thinking about my skin, about how the stones would look against it.
My pulse hammers. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the necklace, betraying the composure I'm trying to maintain.
"Allow me," Maksim says, stepping closer.
I nod because words have abandoned me entirely.
He removes the necklace from the case with careful hands. Sets the empty case back on the vanity. Then he's behind me, so close I can feel his body heat, smell his cologne, vetiver and smoke and cedar, expensive and distinctly him.
His fingers brush my hair, gathering it over one shoulder. The touch is light but deliberate, and goosebumps race down my neck, my arms.
Then his hands are at my throat. Both of them. Bringing the necklace around, positioning it just so. The cool stones settle against my skin, a shock of temperature that makes me shiver, and his fingers work the clasp with precision.
We're not quite embracing, but we're close enough. His chest nearly touches my back. His exhale stirs the hair at my temple. The mirror shows us together. Him tall and commanding behind me, me frozen in red silk and diamonds, both of us caught in a moment that feels too intimate for what this arrangement is supposed to be.
"Perfect," he murmurs against my ear. "I knew it would be."
The words rumble through me, low and intimate.
He stays there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then he steps around to face me, and suddenly we're too close again. His lips hover inches from mine. We share the same breath, the same space, the same dangerous gravitational pull.
I lean in. Can't help it. My body moves before my mind can intervene, tilting toward him, seeking the kiss that's been haunting me since the wedding.
At the last moment, he steps back.
The rejection lands like ice water.
"We should get going," he says, voice steady, controlled, betraying nothing of what just passed between us. "If we're aiming for fashionably late."
I gather myself. Force the mask back into place. Smooth nonexistent wrinkles from my dress with hands that want to shake.
