Olivia freezes. “You’re not allowed to see him. It’s bad luck.”
“I’m not superstitious,” I reply.
The knock comes again.
“I need to speak with Perry,” Damian’s voice calls through the door.
My stomach flips.
Olivia crosses her arms. “This is illegal.”
“I’m the bride!” I say, laughing.
She glares at me.
I grin. And I move toward the door.
Olivia plants herself between me and the door like she’s personally responsible for warding off misfortune. “This is a terrible idea.”
“It’s five minutes,” I reply.
“It’s cursed.”
I laugh softly and move her aside anyway. “Relax. I’m not walking under a ladder.” I open the door and abruptly forget how to breathe.
He’s standing there in a tux that looks custom-built for temptation. The black jacket fits his shoulders perfectly, the crisp white shirt sharp against his skin, the bow tie precise and infuriatingly elegant. His hair is styled but not stiff, and there’s something about the way he’s standing—contained but coiled—that makes heat slide straight through me.
“Hi,” he says.
It’s unfair that one word can do that much damage.
Olivia makes an exaggerated gagging sound behind me. “Seriously? Can’t you wait until after the ceremony? Didn’t you say you two banged one out this morning?”
Damian laughs. “That’s girl talk? Classy.”
“I never claimed to be classy,” I retort.
Liv huffs. “Perry?—”
“Five minutes,” I say firmly, not looking at her.
“Five,” she agrees reluctantly. “If you ruin your lipstick, that’s on you.”
I close the door behind her.
We’re alone. Damian looks at me slowly. Not a quick once-over. A slow, deliberate study. I feel his gaze scrape over my skin,even though we’re both dressed. “You’re breathtaking,” he says quietly.
The compliment lands differently today.
“So are you,” I reply.
“I shouldn’t be here. I know that.”
“No,” I agree.
“But I couldn’t not see you before this.”
My pulse spikes.
