Chapter 47 47

Chapter 47 47
IRIS QUINN

The first three dresses were failures.

Too formal, too stiff, or simply dead. One made me look like I was heading to a wake, a fact Caesar pointed out with zero hesitation.

“Next,” he drawled from the velvet chair without bothering to stand.

I fought the sudden, violent urge to throw a shoe at him.

The fourth was an improvement with deep emerald silk that felt sleek and liquid. But as I stepped onto the pedestal, Caesar shook his head before I’d even completed the turn.

“The cut is wrong. Next.”

I glared at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m being thorough.”

“You’re being insufferable.”

He didn't argue. He just flicked his wrist, gesturing for me to disappear back behind the curtain.

The fifth dress was the one.

I knew it the second the silk slid over my hips. It was midnight blue, so dark it bordered on black, with a neckline that was daring without crossing into obscene. It fit like a second skin, clinging where it mattered and flowing where it didn't.

When I stepped out, the staff actually caught their breath. I looked at Caesar, who for the first time all afternoon had gone silent.

“Well?” I challenged.

He stood slowly and walked toward me, his gaze dragging over the fabric with an intensity that made the fine hairs on my arms prickle.

“Turn around.”

I did.

He circled me once, studying every angle and line before stopping in front of me.

“It works,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That’s it? 'It works'?”

“The dress is fine, Iris.” His eyes locked onto mine, stripping away the fashion talk. “But you’re the problem.”

Heat flared in my chest. “Excuse me?”

“At the gala, I’ll need to touch you.” He stepped into my personal space, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “And you can’t flinch.”

“I don’t flinch.”

“You do. Every time I breathe in your direction.”

His hand moved, a blur of motion that settled firmly on my waist. I stiffened immediately, my muscles locking.

“See?”

“I’m not flinching,” I lied. “I’m just—”

“Adjusting.” His hand tightened, reeling me an inch closer. “Like we’re posing for a photo. Stay still.”

I forced myself to exhale, to soften my shoulders and ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin silk.

“Better,” he murmured.

But he didn't let go. When I tried to take a half-step back, his fingers anchored me in place.

“Don’t,” he said.

“Don't what?”

“Move away from me like I’m contagious.” His voice dropped lower. “At the gala, you’re going to be standing beside me for hours. If you keep pulling away every time I touch you, people will notice.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Get used to it.”

I stared at him, my heart beginning to thud. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

I could feel the staff pretending to organize racks, but their eyes were glued to us. Caesar took my hand.

“This is how we walk in,” he said, interlacing his fingers with mine. “Your hand in mine.”

I looked down at our joined hands. His fingers were longer than mine, his grip firm but not crushing. “This feels ridiculous,” I said.

He adjusted my fingers slightly, interlacing them with his. “Stop gripping like you’re about to fall off a cliff.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

I loosened my grip.

“Better.”

We stood there, hands linked, his other hand still resting on my waist. The space between us felt like the air before a storm.

“Now smile at me,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Smile. Like you’re happy to be here.”

“I’m not happy to be here.”

“I know. Fake it.”

I pulled my lips back into a smile. It felt like a hollow imitation of joy. Caesar shook his head, looking almost pained. “That looks like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

“I am.”

“Try again.”

I tried. It still felt fake and forced. Caesar sighed and stepped even closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne that I was starting to recognize too easily.

“Think about something that actually makes you happy,” he suggested.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Your father. Before all this.”

My smile softened before I could stop it. The memory of my father's laugh hit me, and for a second, the light in my eyes was real.

Caesar's gaze flickered. “There. That one.”

“I can’t think about my dead father every time I need to smile at you.”

“Then find something else.”

“Like what?”

He didn't offer a suggestion. He just stood there, his hand on my waist, mine in his, the silence stretching until it became something else entirely.

Then a reckless, terrible idea took root in my mind.

I stepped closer, closing the final microscopic gap between us until my chest brushed his. Caesar’s breath hitched.

I tilted my head, looking up at him through my lashes. “Like this?”

His jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. “What are you doing, Iris?”

“Practicing.” I let my free hand rest lightly on the lapel of his jacket, right over his heart. I could feel it through the fabric, thudding faster than a man like him should allow. “Isn't that the point? I’m getting used to touching you.”

His eyes darkened. “You're playing a dangerous game.”

“So are you.”

At this point, the staff had completely given up on the pretense of work.

The sound of my phone screaming across the room shattered the bubble. I stepped back instantly, the cold air rushing back in to fill the void. Caesar let me go, his expression snapping back into a cold mask.

One of the staff hurried over, looking flustered. “Mrs. Laurent, your phone.”

I took it, my fingers trembling just enough to be noticeable.

Aaron Mercer.

My stomach dropped into a cold pit. Caesar saw the name. His face went stone-cold.

“Answer it,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Answer it. Put it on speaker.”

“Caesar—”

“Do it.”

I swiped the screen and hit the icon. “Iris,” Aaron’s voice came through, warm and easy. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

I glanced at Caesar. He was watching the phone as if he intended to crush it with his mind.

“I’ve been busy,” I said carefully.

“Too busy for an old friend?” Aaron laughed. “I wanted to check in. See how you’re doing. I heard there was some... tension at the Laurent estate yesterday.”

How did he know about that?

“Everything’s fine,” I said.

“Is it?” Aaron’s tone shifted slightly. “Because I also heard Victor’s been asking questions. About me.”

My pulse quickened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aaron.”

“Don’t you?” Aaron paused. “Be careful, Iris. The Laurents have a way of turning people against each other. Even people who think they’re allies.”

I stared at the black screen, the warning echoing in the quiet boutique. Caesar reached out, took the phone from my hand, and ended the call completely.

“He knows,” I whispered. “What do we do?”

Caesar looked at me, his expression unreadable. “We go to the gala,” he said. “And we end this.”