I roll my eyes. “It’s bad luck!”
He chuckles. “Only if you believe in it, and I don’t.”
"You're impossible."
"You knew that when you agreed to marry me."
Tasha's laugh echoes from outside. "He's got you there."
Yuki works quickly, fingers flying over hooks and buttons. The gown comes away piece by piece—bodice, skirt, the elaborate architecture of it lifted carefully from my body. I'm left standingin my wedding lingerie, ivory silk and lace that my friend Eve designed for me. The delicate bra with its pale blue ribbon accents, the bikini panties with their matching bows, sheer stockings with lace tops.
Sofia holds out the cream silk robe. I slip my arms through, belt it tight.
"The veil," I whisper. "Can we—"
Yuki shakes her head. "Too many pins. It must be done very carefully, and Nadiyah should be the one to remove it for you."
Fine. He can see the veil. The dress is what matters.
I check my reflection. Robe covering me from shoulders to mid-thigh, the neckline gaping just enough to show a hint of lace, the swell of silk beneath. The veil trails down my back, pearls catching light.
It will have to do.
I open the door.
Nick stands near Serena and Tasha, but the moment I appear, he goes utterly still.
The full force of his attention lands on me.
He's in a charcoal suit, no tie, collar open at his throat. His dark hair is slightly disheveled, as if he's been running his hands through it. And those eyes, deep cerulean blue, intense, tracking down my body with the kind of heated focus that makes my breath catch.
His gaze moves from the robe to the veil cascading behind me. Then it halts at the glimpse of lace riding the swell of my breasts.
His jaw tightens. His right hand flexes at his side—the scarred one, the one that carries the map of everything he survived.
"You're stunning." His voice is rough, private, pitched in a tone that makes my pulse beat a little faster.
"You're not supposed to see me like this." I'm barefoot on the carpet, hyperaware of the silk against my skin, my near nakedness beneath. "Any of this."
He shrugs, unrepentant. "I don't give a damn about superstitions." He closes the distance between us. Four strides. Close enough that I can smell the faint hint of clean skin, dark spices, something warm underneath that's justhim. He grins down at me. "Though I am sorry your team had to witness my complete lack of restraint."
His hand rises, but he doesn't touch me. His fingers find the edge of the veil instead, where the pearl beading trails down beside my face. He traces the delicate work, reverent and precise, and the gesture feels intimate despite our audience. Like he's touching me through the fabric.
"This is extraordinary."
"Our new master embroiderer created it especially for Avery." Serena steps forward, professional composure restored. "Nadiyah Marchal. Twenty years of experience in Paris and the Gulf."
Nick turns slightly, acknowledging Nadiyah where she now stands near the workroom entrance. "It's museum-quality craftsmanship. Thank you for creating something worthy of her."
Nadiyah inclines her head, but her expression shows no pride, nor humility. Just her usual unreadable calm and quiet watchfulness. Her gaze lingers on Nick a moment longer than necessary. But then everyone looks at Nick that way. He commands attention without trying, fills rooms simply by existing in them.
He meets my eyes once more, the heat in them unmistakable. "How much longer will you be?"
Serena answers before I can scold him again for barging into my private appointment unannounced. “Actually, we were just about to wrap up, Mr. Baine.”
“Good.” He grins at me, unrepentant. “Have lunch with me.”
As much as I want to punish him—or at least make him work for it—I can’t deny that the idea of going somewhere nice for a bite to eat with him sounds a lot better than my plans to finish up here, then run one of the dozen or so pre-wedding errands on this week’s to-do list.
