“Nothing,” I mutter, angrily wiping at my cheeks because goddamn it, I’m crying again.
“Right. Okay. Are you…going out?”
“No,” I huff. “I am not going out. I can’t go out. I d-don’t…” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“The wardrobe covering the bed says otherwise,” Everett says naively.
I’m across the room before my brain has caught up with my legs, and before I know what’s happening, my fist collides with his shoulder.
“Oh God,” I gasp, covering my face with my hands. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Whoa,” he breathes. “Bea, what’s going on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft and understanding, even though I just let loose my frustration on him, which makes me cry even harder. “Okay, okay. Come here,” he whispers before crushing me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me.
My body trembles against his, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me until I’ve finally calmed down and am able to breathe properly again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m having a bad day.”
“You’re allowed bad days,” he tells me.
“I’m okay,” I state before twisting out of his arms. “It’s just…” I throw my arm out, gesturing toward all the clothes. Nothing fits and I feel gross and?—”
“You’re beautiful.”
A laugh bubbles out of me.
“Look at me,” I say, stepping up to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
My hair is wild, my face a disaster. My eyes are red and puffy, and my skin is congested. My breasts are barely contained by my bralette, and the dress…another sob erupts.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Everett states, quickly stepping up behind me.
Gently, he untangles the scrunchie from my hair and lets my two-day-old waves tumble around my shoulders. Then his fingers tuck under the straps of the dress.
“May I?” he asks.
I nod before lowering my gaze to my feet, unable to look at myself as he peels the fabric down my body and lets it pool at my feet.
This isn’t how the first time he undresses me goes. Or at least, it isn’t in my dreams.
I guess this is our harsh reality.
“Look up for me, please, sweetheart.”
I shake my head.
He sighs before dropping his forehead to my shoulder, resting it there for a moment.
“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?”
I hesitate. Do I?
This is a man who has been with some of the world’s most beautiful women and sent them away because they weren’t good enough to hold his attention for more than a few hours.
“I’m going to tell you anyway,” he says, not waiting for my answer. “Do you want to know the first thing that drew me to you?”
As he speaks, he lifts his hand until his fingers are tucked under my chin. He lifts it until I have no choice but to look up. But I don’t look at my reflection; instead, I focus on him.
“Your eyes,” he continues. “I couldn’t tell what color they were from the ice, but I knew they had the power to wreck me. They drew me in that first night, and I swear, they haven’t let me go since.” His fingers slip from my chin before he paints my lips with the pad of his pointer finger. “And then there are these. The first time I saw you smile, it knocked me on my ass.”
