The dress arrived at 4 in the afternoon. Lost in her design work, Catherine didn't hear the doorbell ring, and by the time Susan brought her the news, a team of servants had already carried the dress up to the changing room.

Catherine raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She charged down the long hallway and into her bedroom. In the center of her closet hung a gray garment bag. The name Margo Fresco was embroidered across the bag in silver thread. She gasped and raced toward the bag, fumbling with the zipper.

​​

The dress inside was stunning. Gently, she ran her hands over the thin, white silk, marveling at how cool the fabric felt. She spun the hanger around, studying the stress. The front was modest and high necked, but the back was nothing more than a series of delicate straps that criss crossed over each other.

She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the dress, taking care to avoid tangling the thin straps in the back. The cool silk caressed her skin like water. She zipped it up, amazed that it fit her perfectly—almost as if it has been designed for her. She spun slowly in front of the mirror, admiring the dress's sophistication.

She piled her hair into an elegant chignon and added simple silver jewelry and a pair of white heels. She kept her makeup light and natural, smiling at herself in the mirror.

As she swiped mascara onto her eyelashes, the door opened, and Sean strode in. He wore gray dress pants and a white shirt that was still unbuttoned. In one hand, he carried a matching gray jacket and a tie, and in the other, he carried a belt.

"Help me get dressed?" he asked, a smile playing around his lips.

"We're going to be late," she said.

"Then you better hurry up and help me," he said.

She dropped the tube of mascara and stood with a sigh. As she walked toward him, she felt his eyes wander up and down her body, lingering on her waist and breasts. Her cheeks went hot, but she continued toward him, conscious of the way her breasts moved under the thin fabric.

She stopped in front of him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Though she tried to avoid touching his skin, her fingertips brushed against the hard muscles of his abs and chest as she did the buttons. Each time she pulled her hands away as if she'd been shocked, and he laughed low in his throat. Embarrassed, she grabbed the tie from his hands, wrapped it around his neck, and knotted it tightly.

"I think you forget something," he whispered.

"What?" she asked.

"This," he said, shaking the belt, so the metal jangled.

"You can do that yourself," she snapped.

"You're going to make us late," he warned.

She gritted her teeth and grabbed the belt from his hands. She slid it through the belt loops and then froze. If she fastened it, her hands would touch his crotch. She glared up at him, and he smirked down at her.

"Mrs. Fields is waiting," he said.

"You're sick," she hissed.

She gritted her teeth, grabbed the front of the belt, and fastened it as quickly and roughly as possible. Before she could move away, his arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her tight against his chest. His fingers played with the straps on her back and his lips pressed against her hair.

"Mrs. Fields is waiting," she said.

He chuckled and released her.

"That dress looks beautiful on you," he said.

"Thank you," she said. She smiled slightly, "I've noticed you keep giving me long, white dresses. Why's that?"

"White suits you," he replied.

"Other colors suit me better," she shot back.

"Maybe I like seeing you in white," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

He pulled her close, pressing her against his chest again, "It reminds me of our wedding day."

"But that was a disaster," she whispered.

"It was," he agreed. "But we'll have another one. Someday soon, you'll walk down the aisle to me."

Her heart thudded in her chest, and her head spun, "You sound so confident. But what makes you think I'll do that willingly?"

"You will," he simply said.

***

Catherine walked to the car in a daze. Hoard's simple confidence left her feeling confused and weak in the knees. How could he be so sure she'd want to marry him? Did he think she was falling in love with him? She shook her head to clear the thought, but it was caught in her mind.

There's no way he could believe that I love him, she thought. I hate him—even a man as arrogant as he couldn't mistake hate for love.

He opened the passenger door for her and helped her settle into the leather seat. He brushed his lips gently across her cheek, and then he crossed to take his seat in the car. Her heart fluttered in her chest.

I do hate him, right? she thought. She thought of his arrogance and possessiveness, his jealousy and his icy moods, his cold gaze, and his haughty sneer. But other images and memories came to her, too. She saw his tenderness and his passion, his generosity and the sudden warmth that could fill his eyes when he smiled at her.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she asked.

"You've been silent for most of the drive," he said. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh," she said, feeling herself blush. "Um, I was just wondering how long you and Brad and Leydon have been friends."

He smiled as if he didn't believe her and answered, "Since before you were born."

She laughed.

"I mean it," he said. "Our families have been friends for generations."

"Wait," she said. "If your families are friends, does that mean your family will be there too?"

"Probably," he said.

"I see," she said, shivering slightly.

"It's a party," he said. "My mother won't make a scene in front of all those people. Don't worry."

Catherine nodded, but she wasn't so sure. The thought of facing Sean's disapproving family made her want to return to the safety and peace of his mansion. Sean pulled the car onto a long, winding side road. Tall, old trees lined the road and made it impossible to see anything beyond. Sean stopped the car in front of a tall black gate and nodded at the security guards.

"Welcome, Mr. Blair," they said.