On Monday, I get up, shrug into a dressing robe and go to the closet first, to pick out his clothes. I want him in a power suit. Not because he has meetings, but because he looks hot as hell in it.
I sense his presence behind me and turn around, smiling. He’s in nothing but boxers, and for a moment, I can’t remember what I need to tell him. He looks utterly touchable: his hair slightly messy, dark stubble shadowing his chiseled cheeks. And his shoulders look extra broad today. I never appreciated how sexy broad, strong shoulders could be until I met him.
“Good morning,” he says. “What are you doing in the closet so early?”
I notice the hanger in my hand and pull myself together. “Just picking some stuff out for you. What do you think?” I show him the navy pinstriped suit.
He gives it a cursory glance. “Nice, but I prefer a shirt and slacks.”
“I know—” I swallow the rest of the words abruptly. Did he just say he wants something other than what I picked out? “I’m sorry?”
“Just a shirt and slacks is fine. No need for a suit. I don’t have any meetings today.”
I stare at him, trying to process what just happened. He vetoed my choice. He’s never done that before. What’s going on? Does he not like what I’ve selected for him? And by shirt and slacks…
My gaze drifts toward the back of the closet, where I hid the hideous puke-green shirt and pink shark pants. Oh, good God no.
“What’s wrong with the suit?” I ask.
“Nothing. It came from my closet, so of course it’s fine.”
A small shudder runs through me. He thinks everything in his closet is great. Not everything, Nate. “Let me pick out the shirt and pants, then.”
“Evie, really. I can dress myself.”
I inhale deeply. “If you’re doing this to lessen my workload because of my pregnancy, it isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly capable of picking out your clothes as usual.”
“So am I. I’ve been dressing myself since I was four.”
His poor mother.
“I only said I couldn’t and needed you here every morning because…” He clears his throat, looking slightly abashed. “Look, I just wanted you here every morning. I thought that if you saw, you know, my body in its most, uh, natural form—but without crossing the line, if you see what I mean—you’d be, well…”
“Yes?”
“…overcome with, uh, lust.”
Men. “So. You actually can pick out clothes that won’t embarrass you or the people who see you?”
He nods.
“Then what are the green shirt and shark pants for?” I gesture toward the back, needing to be sure.
“Those? They’re gag gift from Court. He thought it’d be hilarious to put me in them. Too bad for him that he can never beat me in poker or blackjack.”
I press the heels of my hands against my temples, unsure if I should be annoyed or glad that he isn’t colorblind and has decent taste. I decide I should be a little bit of both. “I can’t believe this. Do you know I had to get up an hour and a half early to come over here and help you get dressed?”
He looks a little guilty—but only a little. “Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t think you’d resist for so long! I thought you’d give in within, you know, a month or two…and then I could tell you the truth.” He shoots me an angelic smile, the kind that I’m sure has granted him every get-out-of-jail-free card he’s ever needed.
“You’re incorrigible. Absolutely terrible,” I say, doing my best not to let my twitching mouth curve into a smile. Damn it, even though I know he’s being ridiculously manipulative, I just can’t help myself from softening. He’s too irresistible.
“I am, I know. But I’ll make it up to you. How about I buy you a pink Cullinan for Christmas, like the one Sophia has? It’s a pretty car.”
Just the thought of such a crazy extravagance is almost enough to make me faint again. I just haven’t gotten used to this mindset. Not yet, and maybe not ever. “No! That thing probably costs a kidney and a lung.”
“I think the new ones are only, like, a little finger.”
“Still a no. And since you just confessed to your crime, you can pick out your own clothes. I’m going to shower. Alone.”