I nod, fingers drumming against the tabletop, my ring catching the light. “I can get close to Nico. If Antonio thinks I’m warming up to the family business, he’ll encourage it.”
Liam tilts his head, dark eyes pinning me in place. “And Lily? Do you really think the threat of her becoming one of their targets died when Jen did?”
The weight of her name lands in the room, heavier than any flight log or transfer record. My fingers still, just for a second, before I force them to relax.
“She’s got her summer showcase coming up next week,” I say, forcing the words out evenly. “After that, Cora will do everything she can to get Lily back in London. Left on her own… she’s vulnerable. If you ask me, someone should be with her now; Lyon being no man's land doesn't make it safe. But the last thing I want is for this shit to come between her and her dreams. Not if it doesn't have to.” I glance around the screen, voice low and hard, the words coming out raw.
“No.” Aidan’s arms tighten across his chest, and I know he’s reading between the lines. “You should be staying as far away as possible from her until we’ve got something solid security-wise. She’s safer not seeing you.”
“She’s safer if I’m watching her back,” I snap back before I can stop myself.
Logan exhales a loaded sigh, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Careful, Matt. You sound like a man with something to lose.”
“I’ll handle it. You just worry about handling your end of things,” I fire back. Even though I can see the rebuke in their faces, they don’t press it, and instead, we wrap up the call.
I sit back for a moment, letting the fading voices of the call settle in my ears, but my mind refuses to follow. Finally, I reachfor my phone, thumb hovering over the screen. The last text she sent stares back at me—a thread connecting us across the miles and the chaos. I can almost hear her voice in each word, feel the sway of her dress, the curve of her smile. The world shrinks to that tiny rectangle of glass, and the impossible distance between us presses against my chest.
Chapter 36
The morning sunlight slants through the studio windows, dust motes catching in streaks that make the air feel almost sacred. In a way, it is. Surrounded by months of hard work, hours out from our showcase, the atmosphereispractically worshipful in the way each of us is scared to so much as breathe on our designs the wrong way.
With Isabella buried underneath layers of tulle and Jamie muttering to himself as he paces the length of the room, it feels like one wrong move, one wrong stitch, and all our hopes and dreams will vanish before our eyes. I’ve been crouched in front of my mannequin for so long my quads are on fire, but what’s a little pain when each stitch, each measured adjustment could make all the difference?
“Seriously, darling, this is going to have the audience speechless,” Jamie says, fingers already hovering toward the champagne silk before I slap them away. I stand and step back, finally getting enough distance to see the dress as a whole instead of fixating on the rebellious little threads refusing to fall in line.
“That is the goal,” I murmur, hands on my hips and thoughts firmly on what’s in front of me, not what's lurking around corners.
Isabella raises her head from her workstation, sketchbook balanced in her lap, to shoot us a coy look. “You’re going to blind everyone in the front row. And the back. Probably the balcony too. That slit is dangerous.”
I laugh, but the sound is hollow. I’ve spent more time than I care to admit over the last two weeks thinking about the sight of Matt on his knees for me. Wanting him is wrong, dangerous on so many levels, but my body craves him. That hasn’t dulled; if anything, it’s sharper, more urgent now that I’ve had a taste of him again with the promise of more so close yet so far.
Even now—on the brink of the moment that’s supposed to define my career—my mind betrays me and drifts back to him.
I picture Matt looking at this dress—the champagne duchess silk clinging to me like a secret, thin straps sliding over my shoulders from the pearl-threaded bustier before disappearing into the backless sweep of the dress, the single bias-cut panel down my spine leaving a line of bare skin he’d trace without hesitation, the slit up to my hip teasing a glimpse of flesh with every move.
And I canseeit—his eyes darkening, slow and hungry, remembering that night in the hotel when everything between us snapped electric and sharp and impossible to pretend away. Anight that still lives under my skin, humming, a promise we both ran from the second the sun came up.
The worst part is how much I want that again.
More of his hands.
More of his mouth.
More of the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room worth breathing for.
But wanting him and trusting him aren’t the same thing.
We’re a mess of secrets and half-ruined history, and I don’t know how we get back on track, how we bridge the space between what happened that night and the mountain of wreckage between us.
Still… when I imagine him seeing me in this dress, something in my chest aches with the thought that maybe—maybe—we aren’t as lost as I keep telling myself.
“Lily.”
Jamie’s voice cuts through the haze, equal parts exasperation and concern. “Darling, if you stare any harder at that dress, you’re going to set it on fire with sheer longing. Which—don’t get me wrong—would be iconic, but disastrous for the show.”
I blink back into the studio, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I wasn’t—”
“Oh, you were,” he says, stepping beside me and tugging lightly at the champagne-pink panel to smooth it. “You had that far-off, doe-eyed,I’m thinking about a man who shouldn’t still own my heartbeatlook.”
