Page 55 of A Forbidden Arrangement
Turns out I didn’t need to bother. According to Marco, Xander hadn’t left his office since the morning after the dinner. Before I woke, he was already working. By the time I fell asleep, the light under his door was still on.
Now, sitting in the car beside him, I pretend to study the blur of trees outside my window. My gaze stays fixed on the glass, never on the man beside me. That doesn’t stop my skin from tingling where his arm brushes mine as he talks on the phone.
Whatever he’s discussing, it sounds important by the way his voice hardens. I can’t connect this version of him with the man who left water and painkillers beside my bed, along with a note telling me to take them.
Everything about him contradicts itself. The man who made it possible for a single mom to keep her head above water. The man who listened to my drunk rambling and is now taking me out because I asked. Is the same man working with Elliot, who chased me down and tried to kill me?
“Finalize the acquisition.” His voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and clear. His brows pull together as he listens to the reply.
His tone could freeze glass, but when the other person speaks again, he exhales slowly, patient in a way I didn’t expect. He runs through a list of steps, calm and deliberate, explaining how to get the deal done.
I focus on my dress instead. The crystal beads sewn into the silk catch the passing light, scattering it across my lap. Mrs. Price had offered a new gown for the event, but I couldn’t bring myself to wear anything else. This one had been hanging in my room all week, calling to me.
The fabric glides over my skin, cool and smooth. It’s heavier than I expected from the beadwork, hugging every curve like it was made for me. Maybe it was. A sapphire the size of an egg rests just above the dip of the neckline, drawing the eye there.
I’ve been washed, styled, and shaped into someone who looks like she belongs at his side. Yet the unease won’t leave. I’m a woman more comfortable with dirt beneath my nails and smudges on my face. This dress feels like it belongs to someone else.
I slip a finger under the thin strap that keeps sliding off my shoulder and run it back and forth, lost in thought. Will they be able to tell? That I’m pretending? That I’ve slipped into a costume for the night?
I’ve never thought of myself as beautiful. My eyes sit a little too far apart. My hair is plain brown, the kind you lose in a crowd. My grandmother used to say I was “unique,” that it made me stand out. But the world has a way of showing you the truth.
A rough hand closes around my fingers, snapping me out of my thoughts. Before I can react, Xander turns me toward him. His gray eyes sweep over my face, slow and steady. My throat tightens under the weight of it. It feels like he’s peeling me open,reading every thought I’ve tried to hide. I drop my chin to break the stare.
A faint voice spills from the speaker of his phone, the one sitting forgotten on his lap. The sound is muffled, tinny, like whoever’s on the other end is far away.
Xander follows my gaze, presses the End button, and sets the phone aside without a word.
“Wasn’t that important?” I ask, still looking at the phone.
Warm fingers slide around the back of my neck. His thumb finds the edge of my jaw and lifts until I meet his eyes again.
“Nothing is as important as you.”
He says it without hesitation, voice calm and certain.
I try not to laugh. My shoulders shake anyway, and the harder I fight it, the worse it gets until a snort escapes.
Xander pulls back slightly, brow raised. “Are you laughing?”
I press my lips together, but the smile wins. “It was a little corny.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. My chest tightens. Bradley used to hate being teased. Said it made him look weak. I can only imagine how someone like Xander will take it. I brace myself, smile fading as I wait for the shift.
Instead, Xander laughs.
It starts as a soft chuckle, then rolls into something full and real. The sound fills the space between us, warm and deep. His shoulders shake, and light catches in his eyes, bright and alive.
“Yeah,” he says, still grinning. “I guess it was.”
I fidget with the strap of my dress again, twisting it between my fingers. That’s when I notice his hand is still on mine.
He guides it up, slowly and surely, placing it back on my shoulder. His touch lingers a heartbeat longer than it should.
Then he leans in, close enough that our noses almost brush. His voice drops low, rough around the edges.
“What should I say? That you’re stunning? That I can’t keep my eyes off you? That from the second you walked down the stairs, my heart hasn’t slowed once?”
His breath grazes my skin.
