Instead I asked, "What kind of suits?"
"The kind that make you look like you belong in courtrooms and boardrooms instead of struggling to keep up." His smile was satisfied. "Navy, charcoal, and a lighter gray for summer. Conservative enough for court. Well-made enough that opposing counsel will notice."
"You're impossible."
"I'm thorough. There's a difference." The elevator chimed. "That'll be the tailor with the tuxedos. Go shower. I'll have him set everything up in the bedroom."
I went. Because arguing was pointless when Sandro had already made up his mind, and because some part of me wanted to see what he'd chosen.
The shower helped clear my head. Hot water and expensive soap that smelled like cedarwood and something else I couldn't identify. By the time I emerged wrapped in one of Sandro's ridiculously soft towels, the bedroom had been transformed into a private fitting room.
Three tuxedos hung on a portable rack. Classic black, midnight blue, and charcoal gray. All cut in modern styles that would fit my build perfectly if the measurements were accurate.
The tailor stood beside the rack looking professional and slightly amused. "Mr. Vitale asked me to help with the fitting, but I can leave if you'd prefer privacy."
"It's fine. I have no idea what I'm doing anyway." I approached the tuxedos like they might bite. "These are all... a lot."
"Mr. Vitale wanted options. I'd suggest the midnight blue. It'll photograph well and the color suits your complexion." He pulled it from the rack. "Shall we?"
Twenty minutes later I was standing in front of a full-length mirror wearing a tuxedo that fit like it had been made specifically for my body. Because it had been. The midnight blue was subtle—almost black until the light hit it right. The cutemphasized my shoulders and tapered at the waist in a way that made me look taller, broader, more substantial than I actually was.
"Perfect," Sandro said from the doorway. He'd been watching for who knows how long. "We'll take that one. Have the others delivered to Emilio's apartment."
"I can't accept three tuxedos," I protested. "This is too much."
"You can and you will. You're going to need formal wear for events like this." He dismissed the tailor with a nod and crossed to me. Adjusted my bow tie even though it was already perfect. "Besides, you look devastating in this. I want to see you wear it."
"You want to show me off."
"Absolutely. You're brilliant and beautiful and mine. Why wouldn't I want everyone to see that?" His hands settled on my waist. "Any objections?"
I should have a dozen objections. This was too fast, too public, too much of everything. But looking at us in the mirror—him in his perfect black tuxedo, me in midnight blue that transformed me into someone who could stand beside him without looking out of place—I couldn't find the words to protest.
"No objections," I said quietly.
"Good." He kissed my neck just below my ear. "We leave in thirty minutes. I'll have Thomas bring the car around."
The drive to the St. Regis was quiet. Sandro spent most of it on his phone, coordinating something with his partners. I watched the city pass by the windows and tried not to think about what we were about to do.
"Nervous?" Sandro asked, pocketing his phone.
"Terrified."
"Don't be. You've done nothing wrong. You're an attorney attending a charity event with someone you're working with.That's completely normal." He took my hand. "The only thing that makes this complicated is other people's judgment. Fuck their judgment."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have a law license they can threaten."
"No, but I have a reputation they can damage. And I'm choosing to risk it by being here with you publicly." He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. "We're in this together, Emilio. Whatever happens tonight, we face it together."
The car pulled up to the St. Regis and I saw the red carpet, the photographers, the crowd of donors arriving in their expensive formal wear. My stomach clenched.
"I can't do this," I said suddenly. "Sandro, I can't—"
"Yes, you can." He cupped my face and forced me to look at him. "You're Emilio Rossi. You destroyed a prosecutor in front of the entire DA's office. You fought your firm's managing partners to stay on my case. You're not afraid of cameras and gossip."
"I'm afraid of what this means. What it'll cost me."
"Then let me be afraid for both of us. Let me handle the fallout. All you have to do is walk in there with your head high and show everyone that you're exactly where you want to be." His thumb brushed my cheek. "Can you do that?"
