Kelsey
We head into the hotel, air-conditioned against the muggy warmth. Not that I can tell temperature at
this point; my whole body is buzzing weirdly. The people-hating billionaire can kiss. Really, really kiss.
Well, I spent all that time watching Bruno with his stern scowls and rock-hard forearms and his
competence-porn moves, and then suddenly he’s bracketing my face in his hands, and his lips are on
mine; of course something short-circuited.
Of course. You’d have to agree it was the logical out. That kiss was a lot of things... logical is not the
word that comes to mind, though.
Inside our suite, I fling myself down on the couch. “I mean, okay, I’m glad not to be on that boat,” I
say, apropos of nothing. “Honestly, it’s a lot of Tyler’s people and I barely know them. Being a captive
audience on open water while everyone quizzes us about our relationship does not sound fun.”
“I’m sure they won’t miss us,” he says. “My point is that you can’t just decide things like that.” He
gives me his raised eyebrow. His raised eyebrows aren’t the cheesy and dramatic kind, rather they’re
subtle, giving his otherwise stern face an amused look, if you catch it at the
right angle.
And then there are the eyes, which intensify when the brow quirks up. I look away. This guy swe eps
in here with his borderline extortion and a shithead comment about my family, combined with fake kisses
and fake- protective-boyfriend act and the freak dresses.
It’s all a bit mind-bending. But none of it needs to make sense, it just needs to work. He’s just a st ep
up from an AI boyfriend.
We noodle on our phones for a while and then there’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I call. “Mr. Blackwood, Ms. Winters. It’s Margot.” I sit up. “Dude. Tell me you did not
order another robot dress.” “I didn’t.” “Then what is Margot doing here?” I get up and fling open the
door. Margot is standing there with a rack beside her, garments sheathed in protective covers.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “Whatever he ordered, I’m sure it’s very nice I—”
She looks bewildered. “I thought I was working on your instructions, Ms. Winters.”
“My instructions?” She holds up her phone. “It wasn’t easy to source everything on short notice, but I
think I have some things in here that might work.”
I turn and look at Bruno, whose attention is fixed on his phone. “And what instructions might these
be?” I ask.
Margot reads from her own phone. “Faded glamour. Nothing stiff. Easy to move in. Vintage French
Riviera. Movement over structure. Dusty Violet. Champagne bubbles. And this.”
She tilts the phone toward me. I blink. “I think it might be wallpaper?” she says. “It’s my
understanding that this was one of the moods.”
The wallpaper from the room downstairs that I loved. Bruno says, “I’m going to go do some work in
the lobby.” “If you recall, I have a dress. It’s not my favorite, but it will do fine.”
“I know. You don’t have to look at what might be a collection of faded glamour, vintage French
Riviera, not costume, purple, champagne, bubbles, and the wallpaper.” He picks up his laptop. “You don’t
have to bother at all. I probably wouldn’t if I were you.”
I narrow my eyes. Yeah, he wouldn’t, but I would, and he knows it. He leaves. The door clicks shut
behind him. “Well!” Margot wheels the rack toward the bedroom. “Should we take a look?”
It seems assholish not to. The first dress emerges from its plastic cocoon and I gasp. It’s the color of
champagne, all golden bubbles and shimmer, with an iridescence that catches the light when Margot turns
it. I want to gasp again. And again. It’s covered in teeny-tiny hand-sewn beads like wee stars.
“What is this witchcraft?” I whisper. Margot grins. “Right? That’s Maddy Mackee. She works out of a
studio in Montauk.”
I reach out and touch it. Kitten soft. “And this one—” She pulls out a violet, almost the exact shade of
the streak in my hair, with a neckline that drapes rather than structures. “Damien Washington. He’s
obsessed with how fabric moves. Watch.”
She gives it a gentle shake. The skirt ripples like water. “Oh, wow,” I whisper. “I know.” She’s
grinning now. “And this one...” The next is dusty rose with cap sleeves and a full skirt. Very Grace Kelly
at a fabulous veranda party. And the fabric’s print is tiny geometric birds.
“Like the wallpaper,” I say. “It wasn’t easy to find that mood, but...” “Also? These are things I would
totally wear!” “Bruno had me take a peek at your Instagram. So that I could get a sense of your style.”
Bruno knows my Insta? She ke eps pulling. Seafoam green with asymmetrical draping. Coral with a
low back and a skirt made for twirling. De ep teal, sophisticated and playful, with pockets hidden in the
seams.
Every single one is something I would actually choose. Something I would actually love.
“Can I try the champagne one? Not that I’m going to wear it. Just to test it.”
She wheels the rack into the bedroom. “Try whatever you want. I’ll be in the living room. Yell if you
need help with zippers. Shoe options in the box.”
Naturally, the champagne one fits like it was made for me. It hugs rather than confines. The skirt
moves when I move. The shoes are completely danceable.
Dammit. I st ep out. Margot clasps her hands. “That’s the one for the ceremony. You look like a movie
star.” Not so sure about movie star, but it is a very me dress—if I lived in a parallel universe where I had
the budget and the occasion to justify it. I twirl. I really need to stop twirling.
I try the violet faded-glamour one. It makes my eyes look brighter, my hair darker. I feel like I should
be on an Italian terrace somewhere with an Aperol spritz.
I try the dusty rose. Perfect for the gift-opening brunch—celebratory but not overdressed, and the skirt
blooms when I spin.
Let’s just face it, I try every single one. I can’t believe Bruno managed all this. Like he took one
offhand comment about wallpaper and champagne bubbles and built something from it.
I change back into lounge pants and come out. Margot jumps up. “Final decisions?” “You did
amazing work, but the thing is, I did have a dress. Even though—” I cast a longing glance toward the
bedroom.
She grabs her bag. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to decide. They’re all bought and paid for. I’m
twenty minutes away for alterations, and if you want me to do returns or exchanges, I can manage that as
well.”
With that she simply leaves.