Page 64 of The Knight

It was thrilling and exciting, but also scary.

She’d lived her adult life in neat compartments. She didn’t deal with unknowns. Only absolutes. But Abe had blown all ofthat out of the water and then some. He didn’t fit intoanyof her compartments.

The way he made her feel made her want to run, even though deep down she suspected it was too late to run—she was already in far too deep.

Abbie was chattering, unaware of her churning thoughts. “I swear Fox buys me a new dress every time we have some event to go to, and as the soon-to-be wife of a Duke, believe me, there are plenty.” She pushed open the door of her bedroom and beckoned for Freya to follow.

Stepping into the room, Freya breathed out, attempting to focus on the here and now.

“Over here.” Abbie tugged on Freya’s hand.

The immense room, decorated in soothing shades of blue, exuded a calm and welcoming vibe. There were glimpses of Abbie’s personality scattered throughout. A framed picture of her daughter Mia on the dresser, a collection of small watercolors with Abbie’s initials adorning the walls.

Freya touched the bottom edge of one frame. “You paint?”

Abbie shrugged one shoulder, a hint of modesty in her gesture. “For fun.”

“They’re fantastic,” Freya said, impressed.

Abbie pinked. “Thanks. Thom hung them. It’s taken a little while to get used to seeing them there.” She faced Freya. “Do you paint?”

“Um.”I have no hobbies. All I do is work. “No. I don’t.” Even Einar had interests. He was going to an art exhibition tonight.

“Well, maybe after all this.” Abbie’s face lit up. “We could paint together?”

“I’d like that,” Freya replied, surprised to find she meant it.

Abbie moved toward the far side of the room, her hand resting on two large double doors. “Are you ready?”

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, Freya clutched at her elbows. “Something simple would be fine. Perhaps you could just pick out a nice black dress?”

Abbie threw her hands up in mock exasperation. “Nice black dress? You are not going to the Dorchester in a ‘nice black dress.’ We are going to knock Abe’s socks off.”

“We’re not, I mean...”

Abbie just beamed and threw open the doors.

Lights automatically switched on, illuminating a space that snatched Freya’s breath away. This was no mere walk-in closet; it was an entire room. Racks of perfectly hung clothes lined the walls down to the far end, where shelves of shoes in every color were stacked from floor to ceiling.

“Come in.” Abbie beckoned.

Freya stepped inside. “Is this all yours?”

Abbie nodded, running her hand along a nearby rail. “Thom’s dressing room is on the other side. His is far more boring—all dark suits and tactical gear. Which, I admit, he looks ridiculously hot in, but still. Zero creativity.” She waved her hand dismissively before gesturing around her own space. “Butthis? This is where I have fun.”

She tugged at the sleeve of Freya’s pink top, the one Asta had loaned her. “Let’s get you out of this and into something that doesn’t say ‘I’ve given up on life.’ Sit.”

She nudged Freya onto a plush island seat before diving into the ranks of dresses. One by one, she draped them over her arms until she had amassed a colorful collection. With a flourish, she deposited them on a turquoise velvet chair next to the mirror.

She grinned over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “I’ll be right outside. Holler when you have one on, and we can see if it screams Goddess.”

Freya ran her fingers over the pile of dresses, feeling the luxurious fabrics beneath her fingertips. She’d always chosenclothes for practicality, never for decoration. She had one black dress she wore to every formal occasion—a knee-length, sensible piece with a modest neckline, and most importantly, machine washable.

But Abbie’s evening gowns were in a completely different league.

Opulent fabrics in rich colors shimmered as she touched them, and some were so light, they were more air than fabric. Freya pulled on an emerald-green dress, admiring its delicate capped sleeves and the way the bodice hugged her figure before cascading in a waterfall of fabric to the floor.

She smoothed the material over her stomach, feeling out of place. She’d never worn anything this extravagant before. The designer tag alone made her hesitate, as if the price would somehow make it even more dangerous to wear. It was exquisite, far beyond anything in her closet—hell, far beyond anything she’d even dreamed of owning.

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