The dress fits like a second skin, hugging curves I didn't know I had. The fabric makes my brown eyes look darker and more mysterious. The neckline reveals cleavage I've spent my entire adult life hiding under cardigans and labcoats.
Sloane rejected my usual lip gloss and eyeliner, working her magic with makeup. There's something smoky that makes my eyes look sultry. My lips are painted a deep red that makes me look powerful.
And my hair is so gorgeous.
She curled it, transforming the straight style into waves that cascade down my shoulders and end in soft curls. The kind of hair that begs to be touched, pulled, tangled in someone's fists while they...
Stop. Focus.
"You look incredible," Sloane breathes, stepping back to admire her work. "Like you can destroy a man with a flick of your fingers."
I stare at my reflection. The woman looking back is sophisticated and confident. She commands attention instead of shrinking from it. She's everything I usually try not to be.
Sloane turns to face me.
"Tonight, you go show Declan exactly what he's got. And if he's stupid enough to keep going out with Evangeline?" Her grin turns wicked, eyes becoming cold as she gestures at me. "You leave him to rot while missing all this."
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over the dress one more time.
She's right. Practice date or not, Declan made a choice when he kissed me, touched me, made me scream his name into the night. He doesn't get to have that and Evangeline too.
If he thinks he can date both of us simultaneously, he's about to learn otherwise.
16
DECLAN
For All to See
Evangeline's hand has been resting on my arm like a shackle.
We've been standing in the Iconic Museum Grand Hall, surrounded by Senator Ashford's donors and political allies, all of them drinking champagne, listening to classical music, and staring at the art and marble columns stretching toward vaulted ceilings.
It's an expensive, tasteful, and suffocating affair.
Yet all I can think about is Ivy.
How she felt trembling beneath my hands. The sounds she made when I made her come. The way she looked at me afterward: vulnerable, trusting, completely undone.
My body has been humming since last night. Ever since I kissed Ivy, felt her fall apart around my fingers, heard her scream my name. I want more. I want to strip her bare and explore every inch of her until she understands that she's mine.
But I'm taking it slow. Giving her time to adjust, to trust, to understand what real pleasure feels like. I'm showing her different ways I can make her body sing before I take that final step.
Because when I finally get inside her, when I make her mine completely, I want her so thoroughly addicted to what we have that no one else will ever compare.
Not even the version of me she thinks is King.
I let myself listen to gray-haired men ask me about playoffs and game chances, while Evangeline smiles and coos like we're an item. I let Gregory and Ashford display Evangeline and I around like another piece of art, while the senator asks to see more of 'us' together.
But after thirty minutes of fake smiles, I can't do it anymore.
"Excuse me." I extract myself from Evangeline's grip. "I need some air."
Gregory's eyes narrow. But I’m already weaving through the crowd toward a hallway marked "Private. Staff Only."
The moment there’s no other suffocating human around me, I pull my phone and call Ivy. She’s mad but eventually agrees to come over.
I spend the next hour pretending to like Evangeline and escaping intermittently to check if Ivy has arrived. I'm watching from a window when the taxi pulls out. The moment she steps out, every coherent thought evacuates my brain.
