Chapter 18: Dress Rehearsal

The gown came to the front desk at six on day fifty-seven, in a garment bag the color of cream.

A courier handed it over with a card.

The card said, "For Saturday! I guessed your size from your blazer. Love, Monique."

Lacey read it over my shoulder.

"She guessed your size from a blazer."

"That's a skill."

"That's surveillance with a bow on it."

I unzipped the bag an inch.

The gown inside was emerald silk, with a low back and a very long skirt.

"It's gorgeous," I said.

"It's free," said Lacey.

"Free is my favorite price."

"June."

"If she wants me dressed for the room, I'll be dressed for the room," I said. "Then she can wonder what I'm up to."

I took it up to the penthouse after my shift.

Thatcher looked at the bag, and then at me, and his face went quiet.

"No."

"That's thirteen."

"She picked it. She wants to see you in it."

"Then she'll see me in it," I said, "and I will look better than she planned."

He didn't answer.

I went into his dressing room and put it on.

It fit perfectly. The back was open to the base of my spine.

I turned in front of the long mirror and saw Thatcher in the doorway behind me, one hand gripping the frame.

"You hate it," I said.

"I hate who sent it."

"What about the dress?"

He came up behind me.

He did not touch me. He looked at my reflection.

"The dress," he said slowly, "is going to be a problem."

He put his mouth against my bare shoulder, and I leaned back into him.

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