Inside were shoes that were somehow both elegant and engineered for someone who planned to stay standing all night.
"In case you need to make a quick exit," he said.
Then he opened the garment bag and drew out a wrap the exact shade of charcoal that made the emerald dress glow.
April reached for it automatically, fingers brushing the fabric. "You kept it?"
Their hands overlapped in the charcoal silk. "I couldn't leave it."
He held her gaze longer than necessary, then stepped closer and draped the wrap over her arms instead of her shoulders. His fingers brushed her wrist as he let go.
April gathered the wrap closer around herself, the silk sliding higher along her arms.
"Killian sent the necklace earlier," she said, touching the heirloom at her throat.
"We talked."
April blinked. "You and Killian… compared notes?"
"Same priority." He adjusted the wrap around her bare shoulders.
It was like two people reaching for the same door and opening it together—no awkward pause, no sidestepping or circling, noyou go first, no you go.
Except the door was her.
It felt like she'd been swept into a three-person tango. It shouldn't work. But apparently it did.
And God—it was sexy.
The realization settled as the car slowed.
April blinked, her fingers still resting on the necklace.
Outside the window, the staging area shimmered, a hurricane of cameras, celebrities, and people who looked like they'd been born knowing how to stand under lights.
The car pulled to a stop.
I don't belong here.The thought arrived uninvited, frustratingly familiar.
Then the door opened. Arthur extended his hand with calm certainty. "Killian is delayed. He'll arrive shortly."
April took it.
His hand was warm. Solid. The kind of grip that steadied you before you realized you needed it.
She stepped out carefully, one foot angled to avoid—
A puddle.
I was a puddle this morning.
Arthur's hand closed lightly at her elbow. Under his gaze, she felt like a different kind of spill—the kind with a thin film of oilthat caught the light and turned the pavement into a rainbow. Still a mess. But iridescent.
"Careful," Arthur murmured. He didn't offer to carry her over it; instead waited for her to find her footing.
April stepped over the water and watched her reflection ripple and distort, oil-slicked and luminous before it vanished.
He studied her face like a balance sheet that didn't quite reconcile, then reached up and brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth—a tiny smudge of lipstick that would've become a gossip column caption by morning. He wiped it away efficiently. "Now you're accurate."
