“One more question though,” Aspen says. “Top or bottom?” The other cousins groan as I stare at him in disbelief. “If I were gay, I’d be a top.”
“We did not need to know that,” Damen says and pours himself some liquor from a side table.
Aspen’s eyes grow, as if he thinks he can make me talk by pretending to be cute, but I no longer have to worry about that when the true reason behind my low mood enters the room with hair in perfect order, and cheeks pink from the cold air outside. He meets my gaze,and for a moment my heart leaps with hope that maybe he saw how ridiculous he was being. But then he spots the men on the couch, and bristles.
“Why are you here?” he demands, gesturing at Aspen.
“Your mom invited me.”
Sadly, that does sound like Daphne.
The assistant comes in, all flushed as if he ran to get my shoes, and he’s followed by another smiling man with a tape measure. “I heard the theme is dark and gothic,” he says. “Are we looking to add a dark green? Maybe plum?”
Corvus assesses me. “I think that wine-red would suit you very well,” he eventually says before settling in an armchair where Damen passes him a glass of whiskey.
Aspen whistles, as if he’s catcalling me. “What shoe size is this?” he asks, focused on the contents of the box the assistant laid on the floor next to me. “Looks real big.”
Damen smirks as I sizzle in the insinuation. They’ve probably all seen Aspen’s infamous video. Fortunately, he changes the subject as the assistant approaches to measure me.
“Will you be playing the violin at the wedding? It was a beautiful touch at mine,” Damen says to Corvus, and once again, it’s like a stab of bitterness to my gut. I’ve asked Corvus to play the violin for me several times now and he won’t do it, but here I am, finding out he played for his whole damn family, so it’s not like he’s bad at it and self-conscious.
Corvus sighs. “I don’t think it would be convenient, logistically speaking,” but as my thoughts simmer, a handsome twink steps in front of me with a tape measure and a wide smile.
“Hello sir, hope you’re having a pleasant day. My name’s Stephen, and I will be measuring you for your suit today.”
How polite. And cute. And… oh yes, he did check me out.
Were I not getting married, I’d be making a move on the pocket-sized hottie.
I might be here because of Corvus. My fiancé might be the only one I’ve had eyes for in weeks, but is it so wrong that I want Corvus to know hecouldlose me? That I’m not a tool but a man of flesh and bone who needs to be treated right?
“Hey, I’m Dalton. I’ve never been measured like this before, so you’re the boss,” I say, prolonging our eye contact.
His blue eyes widen a little, and he bites his lip. “It’s one of those things that’s fairly intuitive, if you know what you’re doing,” he says, and his warm, soft hands touch my skin as he closes the tape around the base of my neck.
I laugh. “That feels kind of nice, actually.”
Aspen gives the softest gasp and covers his mouth. Remo’s frowning, and Damen … types something on his phone with a little smirk. Clearly, he’s not all here. But Corvus is, and I can physically sense the weight of his glare.
Well, serves him right. If I mean nothing to him, if I’m just a good dick, then I don’t owe him any feelings either.
Stephen leans in close as he measures the circumference of my chest. He’s practically hugging me now, eyes meeting mine, so very bright as they sparkle with interest. “We aim to provide the best service in town,” he tells me and, after writing down the numbers, proceeds to check the breadth of my shoulders, and then my waist. The initially distant, professional touch morphs into something bordering on acaress, and by the time he stands before me and measures the width of my hips at crotch-level, I sense his knuckles brushing my cock through denim.
There’s a loud shuffle, and Corvus appears behind Stephen like the embodiment of fury. His face is twisted as a demon’s when he grabs the man’s hand and yanks it back with so much force Stephen flies to the floor.
In the quiet of the soundproofed room, the crack of breaking bone is as painful as the noise made by nails scratching a chalkboard. Stephen cries out, grabbing his wrist in disbelief as the other assistant only now turns to us as if in slow motion from where he’s standing at a wall filled with fabric samples.
“My hand… myhand!” Stephen whines, cradling his wrist with tears in his eyes as I scoot down to him in panic.
“Be glad it wasn’t your face!” Corvus yells at him.
“The fuck did you do?” I stare at Corvus as the other guys get up from the sofa.
Corvus’s usually pale face is now blotted red, and he sucks in a lungful of air. “You’re really letting him grope you at the suit appointment for ourwedding?” he spits out, dragging me toward him by the collar while Stephen’s colleague pulls him out of the space between our feet.
“I did nothing,” I say but stare straight into his eyes in defiance. I have to spread my arms because my fists itch to punch, and I don’t want to do something I’d regret.
Damen’s walking over to the crying tailor to do some damage control, while Remo approaches us, wary like a cat about to pounce.
