That’s why I wasn’t supposed to wear a dress.
A black helmet appears in his hand as he closes the distance between us, settling it over my head, the visor still up. My eyes track every movement, unable to look away.
God, he’s beautiful.
His hair has grown a little too long, dark strands falling into his eyes, softening something in him, making him look younger. Closer to the version of him I remember.
The scars on his hands pull with each precise movement, drawing my attention again and again. They’ve always had that effect on me—enough to make my knees feel unsteady.
His focus shifts beneath my chin, adjusting the helmet, his touch careful, almost absentminded.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” I murmur before I can stop myself.
Jesus, I shouldn’t have taken the shot. Or the second one.
He stops whatever he’s doing mid-motion and lifts his gaze to me, then smiles and shuts my visor down so quickly I stumble.
Asshole.
I blush, but fortunately he can’t see it anymore. A second later, I’m lifted effortlessly under my arms and placed on that monstrous thing like I weigh nothing. He settles in front of me, grabs his helmet, and suddenly his voice fills the space inside my helmet.
“Hold me like this,” he says, guiding my hands around his body. My fingers press against firm muscle, feeling his stomach tighten beneath my touch. His voice is deep, calm, and I wish he’d keep talking, but he never does.
A low rumble fills the garage as we head out, down the driveway of the manor and onto the road.
We follow a dirt path for nearly twenty minutes before merging onto the highway, which only confirms how remote the house really is, hidden deep in the woods.
I want to take in the scenery, I really do, but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I’m finally holding him.
He never speeds, not even close. If anything, he stays under the limit, and it makes me smile.
He’s driving carefully. For me. Such a gentleman.
He always was.
At a red light, he comes to a stop and a moment later, his hands leave the handlebars and settle over my knees, slowly drawing circles there to warm them up.
“You must be cold,” he says, his voice resonating in my helmet.
Oh, I wish. My body is on fire, and I think it’s going to blow up anytime soon. His touch sends heat rushing through me in waves.
“Just a little,” I lie and hear him chuckle.
“Always stubborn.” He shakes his head slowly before the light turns green and we head out again.
We get to the city after more than an hour-long ride, stopping in a dark alley between some luxury skyscrapers.
“Leave the helmet on,” he instructs me while getting off the bike, taking me in his arms and putting me down.
Then he takes my hand and leads me to one of the glass-walled towers. The doorman unlocks the big rotating doors that take us inside, where we take the elevator to the ninth floor.
As soon as the elevator door opens, we are in a dark space, with only silhouettes of clothes and jewelry shining in the darkness.
“You can take the helmet off,” Kasien says and comes to me to help me with the buckle under my chin, then he puts in a codeon a box on the wall and the place lights up, with dim lights, revealing the contents of the space.
It’s a very luxurious showroom, with dresses that look like they’re from a fairytale. The place feels less like a boutique and more like a secret vault of luxury. The lights are low, almost intimate, licking the edges of silk gowns and diamonds with gold reflections. Black marble floors mirror every move. Mannequins stand like silent witnesses, draped in satin and glitter, their glass eyes glinting under the dim light.
One entire wall is made of glass, opening into a skyline that stretches endlessly—skyscrapers glowing in the distance, the same view we saw yesterday in the last scene ofFight Club, when the world beautifully collapses. The air tastes of perfume and money, sweet but heavy.
