0010 ~ Vincent ~ I wasn’t prepared for how she looked.
When Elodie emerged from the dressing room in that deep blue dress, I felt something shift in my chest.
The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, the color bringing out the warmth in her skin.
Her hair had been styled by the store’s stylist, swept up in a way that exposed her neck.
The makeup artist had kept it simple, natural, just enough to enhance what was already there.
She was beautiful.
I’d known that, of course.
Known it in the warehouse when she’d thrown herself over her sister’s body without hesitation.
Known it at the courthouse when she’d stood beside me with her chin raised despite her fear.
Known it every time I’d allowed myself to look at her for more than a passing glance.
But this was different.
This was Elodie transformed into the kind of woman who could stand beside a man like me at a business dinner and make everyone believe we belonged together.
“Will this work?” she asked quietly, her voice uncertain as she stood before the three-way mirror.
I cleared my throat, trying to get my expression back under control.
“It’s perfect.” The drive to the Pemberton estate in the hills took forty minutes.
Elodie sat beside me in silence, occasionally smoothing down her dress or checking her reflection in the visor mirror.
The city lights gave way to dark, winding roads, the hum of the engine the only sound between us.
I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves, could see it in the way her fingers kept twisting the small clutch in her lap.
“Just follow my lead,” I said as we pulled up to the gate.
“Smile.
Be polite.
Let me do most of the talking.” “What am I supposed to say if they ask about us?
About how we met?” Her voice was tight with anxiety.
“Tell them a version of the truth.
We went to school together.
Reconnected recently.
It happened fast.” I glanced at her.
“They don’t need to know the details.” The Pemberton house was exactly what I expected — old money, tasteful, the kind of place that had been in the family for generations.
Ivy climbed the stone facade, and warm light spilled from tall windows onto a perfectly manicured lawn.
Richard greeted us at the door himself, his face lighting up when he saw Elodie.
“Vincent!
And this must be the lovely bride!” He took Elodie’s hand with both of his, patting it warmly.
“Margaret has been beside herself with excitement all day.
Come in, come in!” Margaret Pemberton descended on Elodie immediately, exclaiming over her dress, her youth, her beauty, firing off questions about the wedding and how we met and wasn’t it all so romantic.
I watched Elodie handle it with surprising grace.
She smiled, she laughed at the right moments, she deflected the more difficult questions with charming vagueness.
She played the role of the blushing newlywed better than I had any right to expect.
There was something almost unnerving about how easily the lies came to her, how naturally she wore this new version of herself — and something in me quietly admired it.
Dinner was elaborate — multiple courses, expensive wine, conversation that ranged from business to politics to the Pembertons’ grandchildren.
The dining room smelled of roasted rosemary and candle wax, crystal glasses catching the low light every time someone reached for their wine.
Margaret kept reaching over to pat Elodie’s hand, clearly delighted to have another woman at the table.
Richard watched us with the satisfaction of a man who’d made the right decision about a business deal.
“You can always tell a good match,” Margaret said as dessert was being served.
“The way you two look at each other.
That’s real love.
You can’t fake that.” I felt Elodie tense beside me.
Under the table, I found her hand and squeezed it—a gesture that could have been affectionate but was really a warning to stay in character.
Her hand was cold in mine, trembling slightly.
“We’re very lucky to have found each other,” I said smoothly, playing my part.
After dinner, Richard insisted on showing me his study to discuss some final details of the contract.
I left Elodie with Margaret, who was already showing her photo albums of her children’s weddings.
Elodie shot me a look that was part panic, part pleading, but I had no choice.
This was why we were here.
The business discussion took longer than expected.
Richard poured two fingers of scotch neither of us really wanted and talked contracts and clauses while I found myself checking the clock more than the paperwork, some part of me uneasy about leaving her alone for so long.
By the time Richard and I returned to the living room, it was past eleven.
“Goodness, look at the time!” Margaret exclaimed.
“You can’t possibly drive all the way back to the city tonight.
You must stay.
We have a lovely guest suite.” “That’s very generous, but…” I started.
“I insist,” Margaret said firmly, in a tone that made it clear this wasn’t actually optional.
“It’s too late, and you’ve both had wine.
The guest suite is already prepared.
Richard, show them upstairs.” And that’s how Elodie and I ended up alone in a beautifully appointed bedroom with a single king-size bed, our hosts having bid us goodnight with knowing smiles and comments about newlyweds needing their privacy.
The door closed behind us, and the silence was deafening.
Elodie stood frozen by the door, staring at the bed like it might bite her.
I loosened my tie, trying to ignore the way the dress hugged her figure, the way the lamplight caught in her hair, turning loose strands to something like gold.
“You did well,” I admitted.
“Margaret loved you.
Richard’s convinced we’re the perfect couple.” She looked at me then, and I felt that same electrical charge from the courthouse kiss.
The air between us felt thick, charged with something I didn’t want to name.
“Uhm…” she started, then seemed to lose her nerve.
I should have kept my distance.
I should have grabbed a pillow and some blankets and made my bed on the floor like I’d promised.
Should have put space between us before this moment could become something more dangerous.
But I didn’t, I closed the distance between us, unable to control that desire to kiss those lips again.
I crashed my lips against hers and damn, why does she taste so good?