Still, I can’t help but feel giddy as his nimble fingers roam my body. They are gentle and measured as they button the shirt and help me put the dress pants on. Both articles of clothing belong to him, and after he’s tucked the shirt in, it doesn’t look too long anymore. With the help of safety pins, he makes a few more adjustments so it looks like the clothes were custom-tailored to me all along.
This is one of his magic skills. He has a hidden talent for making me look the best that I can, even if I am wearing someone else’s clothes. The size or the style never seem to matter.
Once Aran is done tweaking my appearance, I glance at my reflection in the mirror by the dresser. I don’t look like myself—gone is my colorful self, replaced by an elegant young man who could pass as the heir to any multibillion-dollar business. I like it, and I get the feeling that it will help me get my two companions’ guards down. After all, who wouldn’t want to have a cute grandson like me?
“This looks a lot better,” Aran deems, smoothing out my shirt’s collar. He undoes the top button and tightens the cuffs. “Is it comfortable?”
I stretch and shake my arms, spinning in a circle. “It is, but the sides are a bit loose.”
Nodding, he stands behind me and slides his hands down my flanks, pulling on the fabric to make it tighter. “How is this?”
I bite off a moan. This feels amazing. I can smell his scent in the air around me, I can feel his heat. His hands are resting on my waist, tentative but firm. I’m in heaven.
“Infinitely better.”
I hear a noise that could be a scoff, a snort or a stifled chuckle. One of his hands glides further down, dipping inside my pants where it secures the fabric with a safety pin. Once he’s repeated that for the other side of the shirt, he gestures to me to do another spin.
Humming in satisfaction, he runs a hand through my just-styled hair. “Stop it, Aran! You’re ruining it!”
“It looks better this way,” he insists, and continues to ruffle my hair.
I try to fight him on it, but he wraps one arm around my neck and doesn’t let me escape. From then on, I mostly pretend I want to get free. I mean, I rarely get not-quite-hugs like these, so I’m not about to cut it short. He can shave me bald for all I care for as long as it means I get to be close to him like this.
By the time he’s done with my hair, I look like I’ve just gotten out of bed, but in a good way. In a casual but charming way. He really does have a great eye for these things.
“You are ready now,” he says, meeting my gaze in the mirror as he props his chin on my head and clasps my shoulder.
Oh my god. We look so adorably good together like this. How doesn’t he see it?
“Thanks. Can we go now?” I whine, not sure what to do with my sprinting heart.
I went from annoyed to buzzing in the span of five minutes. All he had to do was give me some of his attention. It’s unfair. I want it all the time. I want him smiling and hugging and kissing me like he should’ve been doing since the day I turned eighteen.
But no. Aran is too stuck-up for that. Too stubborn. He cares so much about the promise he made to my father that he’s missing what’s right in front of him—a real catch.Thecatch. I don’t need his protection anymore—I need hisaffection.
He walks over to the door and holds it for me, his eyes not leaving me even as I blow him an air kiss. In three seconds, he’ll frown, maybe even sigh. I know it’s coming.
And then he surprises me, letting a tiny smile sneak past his defenses as he shakes his head and ushers me to go with his chin.
I blink, not really computing. This is new. But I’m not about to complain or point it out, because he might take it back then. I just store it in my memory so I can examine it later, and make my way out of our cabin without daring to look back.
Ten minutes later, we make it to the entertainment deck’s biggest stage.
“You look lovely, dear,” Mrs. Lynx says, waving us over and beaming a smile at me that’s a little too wide.
I dip my head and wrap my arm around her outstretched one. “Thank you. I’m really excited to get to know you both.”
“Oh, my. So are we, right, Mr. Lynx?” she tosses at her companion, who, if I had to guess, must be her husband.
“Indeed,” he agrees, nodding at Aran, who’s standing a few feet behind me.
“Thank you for making sure charming Hex didn’t get lost on the way here,” the woman says, herding me toward the tall door of the off-limits area. “We’ll see him off to his cabin after dinner, so you don’t have to wait.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Aran produces a small paperback from somewhere. It has a holographic golden retriever and girl on the cover. “I’ll wait for him here.”
Mrs. Lynx pulls me closer to her, her megawatt smile dimming a little. “Very well then. We’ll see you in a few hours.”
Aran tilts his head. “Enjoy your dinner and don’t let Hex cause you too much trouble.”
