“It’ll be fun,” Natasha says, smiling up at me and pats me on the chest. I capture her hand in mine and press it over my heart. “You’ll live without me for one evening.”
I love that she’s not asking, she’stelling me. She’s come such a long way since we got married. She’s so much stronger, so sure of herself.
It’s a fucking turn-on.
Of course, everything about this woman drives me out of my mind.
“I’ll try, Angel.”
Forty-One
NATASHA
“No.”
I’m fastening an earring—pink diamonds, of course, because my husband is over the top—in our bathroom and glance at Julian, who’s standing in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed, watching me with hot, dark eyes.
“No, what?” I frown as I reach for the other earring. My hair is twisted up to keep it off my neck, so I don’t get too hot. My makeup looks great, if I do say so myself.
I love a smoky eye.
“You’re not wearing that dress.”
I glance down at the white slip dress—yes, I went for white voluntarily—and then back at him.
“Why not?”
“That’s not a dress, it’s something you wearundera dress.”
“No, it’s a dress, all by itself.” I smile at him, and when I’ve secured the second earring, I hold my hands out at my sides and do a little turn.
“It doesn’t even cover your perfect ass, Angel.”
I glance back in the mirror. “Yes, it does. I mean, I won’t bend over, but?—”
“If you bent over, I’d have to set fire to the arena. Natasha,no.”
I sigh and shake my head, frame his face in my hands and lean into him.
“I’m wearing this dress tonight. Because I’m an adult, and you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t wear.”
“Yes, I do get to do exactly that. You’re my wife.”
“Fine. I don’t want you to wear these shirts anymore. They show off your shoulders, and I don’t want other women looking at them.”
“Done.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “It’ll be rectified by morning.”
I blink up at him, stunned that he’d do that for me. “I was kidding.”
“I’m not, Angel.”
“Youbought this in LA.”
“I thought you’d wear it forme. In the bedroom. Not when you go out with the girls to the Sphere for a goddamn concert.”
“Well, that’s where it’s going tonight.” I stomp around my stubborn husband and walk into our closet, where I reach for the gorgeous Dior shirt dress that falls past my knees, so pretty with tigers and blue flowers all over it. I unfasten the row of buttons that fall down the entire front, then I shrug it on and cinch it with a belt, so you can just see the slip underneath, like a peekaboo. The neckline is asymmetrical, so it falls over one shoulder, showing off the spaghetti strap of the dress. “I love a layered look.”
I turn and smile at my husband. His eyes have narrowed. His hands are in his pockets.
