“And we have another wedding coming up.” I dare to look back over at him. “Have you found a way to get us out of that yet?”
“Haven’t really been trying,” he admits. “But I’m starting to think we should let it happen. Really cement our relationship to people. Plus, any excuse for a party, right?”
He might be right. This can be our classy do-over to prove to everyone how serious we are. Surely Figgy can’t continue to harass him after she watches us recite our vows. And it’s not like I have to plan, organize, or pay for anything, so I should be on board for those reasons alone. I don’t have much left to protest.
Except the little fact that this isn’t feeling so fake these days.
I shake the thought away, pointing to the three pairs of shoes sitting in front of the mirror so I can change the topic. “Help me pick. Which ones go best with the dress?”
I already know which ones I’m wearing—the heeled sandal with pearl-embellished straps—and I don’t expect Thomas to have enough knowledge of fashion to make the right choice. Shockingly, he picks up the ones I want, then motions for me to sit on the bed.
I do as I’m instructed, expecting him to hand the shoes over so I can put them on, but he’s kneeling in front of me a momentlater. A shiver races down my spine as his hand curls around my ankle to lift my foot, then slides the shoe onto it. The buckle on the ankle strap is fickle, but he manages it with ease before repeating the process on the other side.
I’m not breathing when he looks up, a pleased smile on his lips from completing his task. Seeing him on his knees is hot enough, but that tiny act has a wildfire blazing a path straight through me.
“Ready to go convince more people we’re madly in love?” he asks.
My answer comes out as a shaky exhale. “Absolutely.”
Because right now, that doesn’t seem like a very hard task.
Thomas’s hands haven’t left my body since we stepped out of the car to walk the red carpet.
Right now, one lingers on my hip, keeping me tucked into his side as we wander the ballroom and greet all the people he knows, from drivers past and present to politicians and humanitarians to celebrities I try not to gawk at as he proudly introduces me as his wife. Before that, our fingers were interlocked as he guided me up the marble steps into the venue, making sure my heels didn’t catch in the hem of my gown. I can’t wait to discover where his touch ends up next.
I take a gulp of champagne to wash the thought away, glad for the brief reprieve from people approaching us. I’m scanning the room for anyone I know, and while there are a few vaguely familiar faces from the circles I run in, I still don’t see the one I’m looking for.
I try not to be too disappointed that I haven’t spotted Willow yet, but Reid Coleman is circulating on the other side of theroom, and I’m desperate for him and Thomas to talk. Willow promised she’d be the facilitator of that tonight, and I’m not about to drag Thomas over and simply hope for the best. No, we need our sweet-talking mutual friend to make sure this goes smoothly.
“Would you like to dance?”
Thomas’s question gets me to glance up, distracted from my searching. “You know how?”
He huffs a laugh. “Sweetheart, I grew up going to galas like this. I learned how to waltz about five minutes after I learned to walk.”
“Well, now you’re going to have to prove it.”
I down the rest of my champagne before letting Thomas sweep me through the crowd and onto the dance floor. True to his word, he does know how to dance, and he’s gentlemanly enough to keep his hands in all the proper places, except for a slip here and there when his palm finds my lower back.
“People are watching us,” he murmurs in my ear as we turn around the floor again.
I stare over his shoulder into the crowd. He’s right, there are plenty of eyes—and a few cameras—on us. “Unsurprising,” I say breezily. “We’re hot as hell. I’d be offended if they weren’t looking.”
His chest rumbles against mine as he chuckles. “I’m trying not to get jealous over all the men staring at you.”
Jealousy has no place in our current relationship, and yet a wave of giddiness crashes through me. “I mean, my assdoeslook fantastic in this dress, so no wonder they can’t keep their eyes off me.”
In response, Thomas’s hand slips lower on my back. “You’d think they’d have the decency not to ogle another man’s wife.”
“Maybe you should kiss me,” I tease, feeling nearly as boldas I did the night we met. “Show them you’re the one who gets to take me home tonight.”
“I could.”
It’s a vague answer, one that trails off as if he’s not really considering it. God, I shouldn’t have said it, shouldn’t have suggested it in such a flirty way, but wedidagree that we’d save things like that for the public. Who cares how I’ve said it? It’s all still fake. For show.
“But?” I press, needing to know what’s stopping him. “It’s just a little PDA.”
Thomas looks down at me, our faces close enough that it would be so easy to bring our lips together. “That’s the problem.”
