"That you are the only woman in the room who matters."
**
The boutique on Oak Street is closed to the public when we arrive.
Grant parked the SUV directly in front of the glass doors. A woman in a tailored black suit unlocks the door the moment we step onto the pavement, ushering us inside with a tight, professional smile.
"Mr. Vance. Miss Jennings. Welcome," the woman says, locking the door behind us. "We have prepared the private viewing room in the back."
The store smells like expensive perfume and fresh lilies. Racks of designer gowns line the walls, but the center of the room is completely empty, save for a few velvet armchairs.
Malcolm guides me toward the back of the store. He doesn't look at the clothes on the racks. He doesn't look at the price tags. Hewalks with the absolute certainty of a man who already knows exactly what he wants.
The private viewing room is massive. A raised pedestal sits in front of a three-way mirror.
"I pulled the options you requested, Mr. Vance," the manager says, gesturing toward a rolling rack holding six garment bags. "All of them are exclusive. None have been photographed on a red carpet this season."
"Leave them," Malcolm says, not looking at her. "We need privacy."
"Of course." The manager bows her head slightly and walks out, pulling the heavy curtain shut behind her.
We are alone.
I look at the garment bags, then at Malcolm. He is standing near the velvet armchairs, his hands in his pockets, watching me.
"You pre-selected the dresses?" I ask, walking toward the rack.
"I gave them parameters."
"Let me guess. Dark colors. High necklines. Armor." I unzip the first bag, pulling the plastic back.
It is a black velvet gown, beautiful but heavy. I push it aside and unzip the second bag. A midnight blue silk dress with long sleeves.
I frown, unzipping the third bag.
I stop.
The dress inside the third bag isn't dark. It isn't armor.
It is a backless, floor-length gown made of liquid gold silk. It is incredibly delicate, the fabric so thin it looks like it would melt ifyou touched it. The neckline plunges into a deep V, held together by two impossibly thin straps.
It is the exact opposite of everything I have worn since I met him. It isn't severe. It isn't defensive. It is a dress designed to draw every single eye in the room and hold them there.
I pull the hanger off the rack, holding the dress up against my body. I look in the three-way mirror.
The gold silk makes my skin look warmer. It catches the light, shimmering even in the dim viewing room.
"Simon liked pastels," Malcolm’s voice comes from behind me.
I look at his reflection in the mirror. He hasn't moved from the armchair, but his dark eyes are locked on the gold fabric.
"He liked pale pinks and soft blues," Malcolm continues, his voice dropping to a rough, quiet register. "He wanted you to blend in. He wanted you to look like an accessory to his life. He didn't want anyone to notice you."
I swallow hard, my grip tightening on the velvet hanger.
"This isn't an accessory," I whisper.
"No." Malcolm takes his hands out of his pockets. He walks slowly toward me, stopping just behind my shoulder. His reflection towers over mine in the mirror. "That is a declaration."
