“Possessive.”
Solomon appeared from the side chamber. He’d been dressing in the adjoining room and emerged in his formal attire. Silver clasps at his throat marked his new rank.
He assessed Mira’s corset situation.
“The lower panel needs releasing. The boning is pressing on the bump.”
“I know where the bump is, Solomon. It’s inside me.”
He stepped behind her, beside me, and his hands found the panel beneath the lacing. Fingers pressed along the seam, found the pressure point, and released it.
Mira sighed as the fabric released. “How did you know how to do that?”
“I asked the seamstress.”
“You interrogated my seamstress about corsets?”
“I requested technical specifications.”
Mira laughed. In the mirror, the three of us stood framed in candlelight. My hands on her lacing. Solomon’s on the panel beneath. Her body between us, the midnight gown pooling at her feet, her throat bared by the half-pinned hair, the pendant catching light with each breath.
She went quiet. Her eyes moved across the reflection.
“We look good,” she said softly.
We did.
Solomon’s hand was still on the corset panel. My fingers still held the lacing. In the mirror, his silver eyes met mine over her shoulder, and the question passed between us without words.
“The ceremony isn’t for two hours,” I said.
“Don’t start,” Mira warned.
“I’m stating a fact.”
“You have an agenda.”
Solomon’s thumb moved. A single stroke along the corset’s lower edge, tracing the curve of her waist where the fabric met skin. Mira’s breath stuttered.
“Solomon.”
“The panel is misaligned. I’m adjusting.”
“That’s not adjusting.”
“No,” he agreed. His mouth found the crook of her neck below her ear. “It’s not.”
The sound she made was involuntary, barely audible, and sent my blood south with the speed of a command. Solomon’s lips dragged down her throat, slow, deliberate, and in the mirror Iwatched her eyes flutter shut and her head tip back against his shoulder.
My hands abandoned the lacing. Slid forward, around her waist, palms settling on the bump where our children grew. Mira’s hand covered mine. Her other reached back, fingers threading into Solomon’s hair, pulling him closer to her neck.
“The dress,” she managed. “We just fixed the dress.”
“We’ll fix it again,” I said against her temple.
“The ceremony...”
“Two hours.”
