He smirked. God, I loved and hated that smirk so much it made my heart quiver. He set me down, holding my gaze, wetting his lips in such a way I despised what it did to me. Then slipped out the door with one last order, “You have ten minutes to put on the dress. If you don’t, I’ll come dress you myself, wifey,” he called.
I won’t lie, the tone and the words, sent my heart tumbling straight to my clit, and it pissed me off that he could have thiseffect on me.
“Jesus. I need to get through this party and go fuck Knox, because what my body is doing right now is definitely not what I want. Absolutely not. I hate Konflict. I loathe him. He annoys me. I don’t find him attractive at all,” I muttered to myself, peeling out of my own dress and slipping into the one he’d chosen.
It was more beautiful than anything I had ever worn, and just as I suspected, it fit my curves perfectly. The tailor had outdone himself with the measurements and the cut, precise and impossible to ignore. I had to admit it, for once, my idiot husband had good taste.
Dressed, I left my room again, brow furrowed and lips pressed in a hard line, determined not to let him see a single crack in my armor, no matter how much I ached to know what he thought when he saw me in that dress. His eyes traveled over me, unwrapping the fabric with a hunger that left me feeling exposed, as if I were a gift he couldn’t wait to open, piece by piece.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured.
My heart leapt so hard I almost hated him for it, but I shut it down, locking my face even tighter. “I know I look incredible, thanks,” I said, brushing past him.
His hand closed around mine the moment I tried to slip away, desperate to put distance between us before I lost whatever edge I had left. I turned, a violent urge to pull away burning through me, but the sensation of his touch disarmed me so thoroughly I had to fight for every ounce of coldness I could muster.
“I don’t know who you think you are lately, but I don’t like it when you touch me like this. Let go, Konflict.”
He didn’t smile, didn’t blink, just stared at me with unreadable intensity. “I have something for you,” he said, leading me toward one of the tables in the sitting room.
I dragged my feet but let myself be pulled along. He released me, reached for a small jewelry box on the table, and my brows snapped together in suspicion. When he opened the box and let me see what was inside, tears stung my eyes before I could stop them. My breath caught in my chest, hands dampening and shaking as I struggled not to show anything. He saw it anyway. Thankfully, he didn’t dwell on it, I would have fallen apart if he had.
“My mother loved this set. She wore it every time she went out,” he said, taking out the ruby necklace I knew as well as my own name.
God, I’d never imagined Konflict could be like this, not in a hundred years. I didn’t know why he was doing it, and I knew he’d never understand what it meant to me, but wearing that necklace and those earrings—Kate’sjewelry—filled me with joy, as if I carried a piece of her with me.
“I’m sure she would have wanted you to wear them,” he added softly.
For once, I didn’t fight him. I turned and let him fasten the necklace at my throat. He stepped in close, the heat of his body humming against my skin. His fingers brushed the back of my neck, lingering a moment longer than necessary as he clasped the necklace, then repeated the same for the earrings. The beauty of the gems, the gentle way he touched me, the way his breath sent shivers over my skin—I had to summon every bit of strength not to melt for him, not to let myself fall for an enemy who could freeze and burn me in the same breath.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my words thick with too many feelings.
I closed my eyes and tried to steady my pulse, pushing back the tears and forcing myself not to read into the tenderness in his gaze. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked at me like he loved me. But that was just my stupid heart, projecting what it wantedonto a man who would never want the same, so I forced myself to break the spell.
“Now let’s go. I’d rather get this farce over with. I have more important things to do.”
“What’s more important? Fucking an escort?” he shot back.
I turned, holding his gaze. “Does it bother you to know I’m getting fucked by a real man every night, Konflict?” I let the words hang there.
“You really want to know if your husband cares that you fuck another man, Serenity? Is that a real question?”
I arched a brow, refusing to flinch. “It is, because I don’t remember you ever acting like my husband in this marriage,” I said, striding toward the car.
“It’s not too late for that,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
A cold shiver ran through my body, but I refused to turn around, refused to ask what he meant and let myself hope for something impossible, with only two days left before our marriage—and my life—ended.
I made it to the Rolls, ready to get in, when Konflict rushed ahead and opened the door for me. I stopped, face blank. “What are you doing?”
“I’m opening the door for you. Get in the car, Serenity.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But why? You look ridiculous.”
He smirked, and every nerve in my body screamed. “Get in.”
I refused to let him run the show, so I circled the car, opened the opposite door, and climbed in on my own. Arms folded, I let anger fill me. He didn’t see it coming, but when he joined me, sliding in by the door he’d held, he wore that smug smile that made me want to both slap him and kiss him.
“You’re not used to princess treatment eh?” he asked with mockery lacing his voice.
