Page 60

The VS designers wanted me in one black, one white outfit, and they weren’t backing down on how much of my skin they wanted to show.

Eventually, late into the afternoon, Asha finally took a bathroom break.

“Just agree to what they’re saying and then put me in whatever you want,” I said quietly to Marian, the designer.

There were three other women in the room with me—Marian, who was working furiously on modifications on her laptop, a tailor fitting giant white feathered wings to my back, and another down at my feet measuring my legs for the thirtieth time.

They all froze.

“You’re okay with that?” Marian asked tentatively.

I rolled my eyes, shrugged and smiled. “My husband is being unreasonable, newlywed stuff I’m sure, but he’ll get over it, I promise. Just do what you planned, and whenever Asha makes some ridiculous request, act like you’re going along, and continue exactly as you please. It’s what I do.”

“You’re an absolute doll,” she told me with a conspiratorial grin.

After that, we were done within half an hour. I only wished I’d thought of it sooner.

I got home at eight p.m. I’d skipped lunch and dinner. Being measured in your underwear for ten hours was an unbelievably effective appetite suppressant. I was starving by then, but I was planning to ignore my hunger in favor of a good night’s sleep. It was the perfect day for it. More often than not, Jovie talked me into staying up late to watch something with her, but she had a shoot across town that she’d texted me was going to run late into the night. I was planning to responsibly take advantage of her absence and make an early night of it.

I forgot all those plans the second I walked in the door. My apartment wasn’t empty.

My husband was back. He was standing about ten feet from the front door.

I was wearing sweat pants, a hoodie, and a ball cap. He was wearing black jeans and a distressed charcoal gray pullover that hugged his shoulders and skimmed his collarbone. His wavy black hair was pushed carelessly back from his face. There was extra scruff on his jaw.

He was fallen angel beautiful. I wanted to lick him, head to toe.

His hands were in his pockets, eyes predatory. It seemed the feeling was mutual.

“Hello, Calder,” I said. I wanted to pat myself on the back for how steady the words came out. Nothing else about me felt steady. My pulse was rioting loud enough to fill the room.

“Call me Banks,” he corrected.

My brows rose. I knew why he’d ordered me to call him Calder at our wedding. I even agreed with it. His friends and family called him Banks and as far as he was concerned I was neither of those things.

What I didn’t understand was why he was changing it now. It seemed like a trap. I wasn’t falling for it.

I opened my mouth to reply, but his eyes had moved past me. “Leave us. She won’t need you again tonight,” he said curtly.

I didn’t need to turn to see it; I felt Chester’s reluctance as he left. Everyone else had already retired for the evening.

We were alone.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Calder asked me after the door shut behind me with a decisive click.

I almost lied. I tried to, but I was too hungry and intrigued not to see where this was going. “No.”

He smiled at me. Why was he doing that? It was only us in the room. “I brought takeout from Omar’s.”

My stomach rumbled. “Omar’s?”

“Have you tried it?”

I nodded. I had. Their chicken shawarma, falafel, and hummus were to die for. I loved their food, but could rarely afford the calorie hit.

“I got a little bit of everything. Care to join me?”

What could I do? I agreed to share an intimate, at home dinner with my husband.