He exhales, low and slow, like I knocked the wind out of him. “I mean, yeah. The dress isn’t very you.”
I nod vigorously. “Exactly. Thank you.”
“But—” he tilts his head, eyes raking over me in that way that makes my skin prickle “—you still look beautiful.”
My breath hitches.
He pushes off the counter, coming closer, voice quieter now. “Like… unfairly beautiful.”
I laugh, nervously. “In this? I look like a disgruntled Disney princess.”
“You look like the kind of woman who’d ruin a man in the best possible way,” he murmurs, stopping just in front of me.
My stomach flips.
“I’m sweaty,” I whisper.
He smirks. “So? Still gorgeous.”
I stare at him, lips parted, and for a second, I forget all about the scratchy lace and the rhinestones stabbing my armpits.
And then—he kisses me. Slow. Intentional.
His hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing over my cheeks as his mouth meets mine—gentle, patient, reverent in a way that makes my chest ache. Like he’s memorizing me with every movement.
My fingers curl into his bare forearms. I’m not thinking—just feeling. I don’t care that I look like a glitter-dusted cupcake or probably smell like panic sweat and nerves.
All I care about is this kiss. This man. And the way I never want it to end.
We’ve kissed since that night, but only quick, casual pecks. Last night, Ash had meetings with his PR team after the talent show, and when I left for work this morning, he was still asleep.
But the moment is broken when Nina walks in.
“Oh,” she says, her voice lifting with theatrical surprise. “So that’s how this is going.”
We spring apart like guilty teenagers—which, for the record, only makes us lookmoresuspicious.
Ash coughs, raking a hand through his hair.
I make a squeaky sound that lands somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze. “Nina!”
She leans against the doorframe, one brow arched in epic judgment. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your pre-marital groping session.” Her tone is dry enough to toast bread.
My cheeks go up in flames. “It wasn’t—we weren’t—”
“Kissing?” she deadpans. “Yeah, I caught that.”
Then she turns to me, all business. “Now. Can we get back to finding you a dress that doesn’t look like it was designed by a glitter-happy toddler?”
I nod, still trying not to combust from either embarrassment or excitement.
Back in my room, she shuts the door and crosses her arms. “Okay. Spill.”
“I—uh—what?”
Nina tilts her head, unimpressed. “You knowwhat.”
I drop onto the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. “We slept together. I know this is all supposed to be fake, but it just… happened. It wasn’t planned.”
