That I wouldn’t dare deny him what he wanted. And what he wanted confused me. He didn’t only want me to join him, but he also wanted me to dress for the occasion.
Like this was…a date.
My fingertips traced the embroidered sleeve again, following the dark thread along the sheer mesh, and a shiver moved through me that had nothing to do with unease. He had chosen this. Not randomly. Not carelessly, but he had imagined me in it.
The intimacy of that thought was dizzying.
Yet all I could think about wasn’t just the date itself.
But more like what would happen at the end of it, when we both walked into this room…
Together.
30
NOT READY
“Goddess, what am I doing?” I muttered to myself as I stood in front of the full-length mirror, and I couldn’t help but wonder, who was the girl staring back at me?
I hadn’t noticed the full-length mirror the first time I stepped into the walk-in closet. Although that was hardly surprising, considering how my gaze had remained fixed on all the proof that Oblivion hadn’t lied. That this was, in fact, his room.
So now here I stood once more, taking in my reflection with uncertainty coiling in my belly as my nerves got the best of me. The mirror was tall enough to show me from the crown of my head to the tips of the heels I had somehow managed to fasten without wobbling. For a moment, I simply stared, as if the girl in the glass might shift if I blinked too hard, before then revealing the truth beneath the illusion.
The emerald green was deeper than I first thought when it had been laid out across his bed. It wasn’t too bright, but more like the forest after rain.
The bodice clung to my torso as if it had memorized the exact shape of me, the fabric smoothing over my ribs before taperingsharply at my waist. The neckline framed my collarbone, not dipping low enough to be indecent but making me question whether a pair of ice-blue eyes would trace it all the same.
As for the back of the dress, well, this had been the real challenge. I turned slightly, catching the line of tight lacing disappearing down my spine, remembering the cursed battle that had taken place only twenty minutes earlier. It had taken three attempts before I managed to hook the first loop without the entire structure slipping sideways.
I had twisted awkwardly, one arm bent behind me, fingers straining to find the ribbon while muttering under my breath at the absurdity of wrestling with a corset alone in a demon’s closet. More than once, I had nearly given up, half tempted to march downstairs in defiance simply because the dress refused to cooperate. But stubbornness had won. I had braced one knee against the low leather seat, caught the laces properly, at last, and yanked that bitch into place.
By the time I had tied the last knot and smoothed the line of it with a satisfied breath, I felt absurdly victorious. Flushed not just from effort but from the knowledge that I had done it myself. Now, looking at the result, I understood why it had been worth the struggle.
As for the skirt, this fell in a clean sweep to the floor, skimming my hips before cascading downward in a subtle flare that moved when I shifted my weight. The daring split in the skirt certainly allowed for more movement, but this came at a price as my bare leg would show as I walked.
Sheer gloves in the same deep shade of green traced my arms from fingertips to my biceps. I tugged one up slightly, adjusting the seam, and flexed my hand experimentally.
The bandage was gone.
Finally, it was starting to heal enough that I no longer needed to keep it covered. A scar that would, no doubt, always remind me of the day I dared step into his world.
Oh, how naïve I had been.
I had known so little then. Known less than I thought I did, and yet here I was. Dressed as though I were about to attend some decadent ball instead of walking willingly back into a room full of demons. The thought brushed dangerously close to fantasy before I caught it and held it there, examining it rather than recoiling from it. There was a part of me that wondered how he would react when he saw me like this. In a dress he had most likely chosen. Would his mouth curve up slightly in that faint, knowing way of his? Or would he grant me one of those devastatingly handsome, full grins that had the power to take my breath away?
That was the dangerous part.
Because now Bo’s voice threaded into the quiet of my thoughts. An insistent reminder of the control Oblivion had over me. I could almost hear him scoffing at the effort I had put into my hair. Telling me I was foolish at the time I took in doing my makeup. At the extra ten minutes I spent debating whether to leave my lips bare or deepen them with a plum gloss that would tone in perfectly with my dress. Something I decided to use after shaking off Bo’s voice.
But this had all been after I had finally surrendered to my rumbling hunger and eaten the food left for me. Quickly discovering that it wasn’t just as good as it looked, but it was so delicious that I could have eaten it a second time.
The shower followed soon after, hot water tracing slow paths over my skin, anchoring me in something simple and real while the madness of the day melted away. By the time I stepped out and began the familiar ritual of drying my hair before styling itup in an elaborate updo, I had convinced myself that the effort was not for him.
It was for me.
If I were going to walk into that room again, I would do it on my own terms, wearing this dress as if it were armor.
But I had been ready for ten minutes now. Long enough for doubt to creep in. No time had been given. No hour specified. The note had been simple and maddeningly polite.
