Page 464 of Reign

Elena’s squeal carries through the foyer.

Every man helping with Evelyn St. Clair’s delivery looks at her.

I glare at them.

Their attention returns to their work immediately.

I’m beginning to understand why Santo threatens death when men look at his wife.

That doesn’t mean I plan to tell him.

Elena stands in the middle of the foyer wearing a white St. Clair dress that clings to every curve of her body and ends high enough on her thighs that I’ve lost track of whatever Rafael is attempting to tell me.

Her hair is half pulled away from her face, secured at the back with a cream Ferragamo bow. Lucia’s necklace rests against the square neckline of her dress. Beige heels carry her toward the first garment rack, flashes of gold catching the light beneath them as she moves.

I’ve been living with her for a while now, and I still haven’t learned how to look at her without wanting to drag her against me.

I doubt I ever will.

She unzips one of the garment bags.

“Oh my God.”

A deep purple dress appears beneath the protective covering.

Elena catches the fabric between careful fingers, examining the construction as though Evelyn sent her something priceless.

For the last month, she has spent most of her days surrounded by Evelyn’s work. She studies every seam, marks the changes she would make, and sends back pages of notes with her companion sketches.

Evelyn has already selected four of Elena’s designs for development.

Elena pretended to remain calm when the email arrived. Then she climbed into my lap, read it aloud three times, and demanded berries so she could celebrate properly.

She works harder now than she ever did for the degree she deferred. The difference is that I never have to ask whether she’s happy.

I see it every time she touches fabric.

Tiago and Joaquin guide another rack through the entrance while Matteo holds one of the doors open.

“Put that one beside the windows, please,” Elena tells them. “But not directly in the sun.”

They position the rack exactly where she indicates.

Then the delivery stops.

The men return outside, leaving only two racks and several cases in the foyer. Most of the collection remains in the truck.

Elena hasn’t noticed yet.

Rafael has.

“You’ve checked the time three times,” he says.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Four now.”

I lower my wrist. “Do you ever do anything useful?”