Page 84 of Sexting the Single Pakhan

She blinks. “I didn’t bring anything over. Those aren’t mine.”

“They are.” I lean one shoulder against the built-in shelf, arms crossed. “I had the section built for you. Personal shopper filled it. Everything here is your size, your style, or close enough to what I’ve seen you wear.”

Her mouth parts. “How? When did you get this done?”

“Immediately after we got back from Paris.” I keep my voice even. “I hired a personal shopper to get it done the very next morning.”

She stares at me for a long second. “What?”

Laurel steps forward, fingers trailing over the fabrics—silk slip dresses, wool coats, a row of delicate camisoles. “This is… a lot. Dresses, shoes, loungewear… everything.”

“I want you to have what you need,” I say quietly. “Whenever you’re here. You don’t have to pack a bag.”

She turns fully to face me, eyes searching mine. “So you were that sure I’d keep dating you after Paris?”

I give her the look, the one that says don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.

She laughs under her breath, cheeks flushing. “Don’t answer that.”

I don’t. Instead I nod toward the far end of her section. “Open that.”

She hesitates, then reaches for the slim glass-fronted cabinet. When the door swings wide, the interior light flicks on automatically. Rows of velvet-lined trays: diamond studs, sapphire drops, delicate gold chains, a pair of emerald earrings that match the green dress hanging in the closet, several pieces of jewelry to go with the dresses.

Her breath catches. “Leonid…”

I close the distance before she can finish the sentence, cup her face, and kiss her, swallowing whatever protest was about to spill out. My teeth catch her lower lip, tug gently. “No arguments,” I murmur against her mouth. “If you don’t like the dresses, we can get new ones.”

She exhales shakily, eyes glassy when I pull back. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” I brush my thumb over the lip I just bit. “How about you go read Alexei his story? I’ll book us a table. And when we come back here, I’ll make good on that promise from earlier.”

She smiles, a little breathless. “Yes, sir.”

She rises on her toes and presses a quick kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Thank you.”

Then she slips past me, heading back toward Alexei’s room.

The restaurant is quiet tonight, low lighting, soft jazz drifting from hidden speakers. We’re tucked into a corner booth with a view of the city’s skyline. Laurel sits across from me, candlelight catching the gold flecks in her eyes.

She chose a nude silk dress from the closet. It skims her body like liquid, with a high neck in front and a back dipping low enough to show the elegant line of her spine. She paired it with a thin gold chain necklace and matching bracelet.

The only thing missing is a ring on that middle finger of her left hand.

Fuck. What is happening to me?

I’ve had the thought of making her my wife more than once since we left the house. I’ve never been this guy. But tonight? Every time she smiles, every time she reaches for her wine glass and the light catches the bracelet, the urge hits harder. I want the ring. I want the world to see it.

She turns her head, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city sprawled below us.

“Beautiful,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” I say.

But I’m not looking at the skyline.

She glances back, catching me staring. A small laugh escapes her. “You’re not even looking outside.”

“Don’t have to.” I lean forward slightly, elbows on the table, voice low. “The most beautiful, breathtaking thing in this city is sitting right in front of me.”