09. “I’ll take your dress off.”

“I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on him, my voice velvety despite the coldness of my words and heart. I just want to make it clear that I don’t intend to get involved in your things or your relationships. This arranged marriage will not be an obstacle in your life or mine.”

Christopher’s expression falters, and he seems troubled, truly troubled. His lips tremble, and his eyes narrow, but all this disappears in a blink.

“As I said, I don’t plan to be your real wife. This marriage is nothing more than a business deal, as you said. Thanks to that, you’ll be able to get whatever you want.” I shrug with a subtle smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “I really don’t give a damn about what you do or the women you sleep with.”

“I think you’re confusing me with Sebastian,” he retorts between teeth, advancing another step that gradually decreases our distance. “I’m not a manwhore.”

No, just a cheater — but of course, I hold those words in my throat.

The curtains of the windows dance lightly with the breeze that enters the room and chills my skin.

“I’ve already said I don’t care.” I turn subtly, focusing on the mirror, removing the long gloves that slowly reveal my blushed skin.

Christopher swallows hard at my seriousness, and his lips seem to tremble, but that expression of apprehension is surely an illusion since it disappears in a blink. He must know that the rumors that he didn’t end his relationship with Evelyn are getting stronger and have reached my ears; even before, I already knew. But instead of moving away, my obsession only grew, and I made him walk up the aisle with me.

Even being a married man who must fulfill his duty, Christopher loved her so much that he didn’t care about throwing his reputation down the drain... and for a man who believed that appearances matter more than anything, this is a big proof of love.

Christopher watches me intently, trying to find, in the depths of my dead eyes, any sign of lies. But I’m being honest. I no longer wish for his attention; I made a vow that, if given a second chance, I would free him from us.

Once again, an intense silence settles between us, adding to the palpable tension that grows ever more.

He messes up his hair, turning his back on me, and I think he will finally leave, as he did in the past, leaving his bride on the wedding night to lie with his mistress.

I ignore him, throwing my body gently to try to rid myself of the dress. With difficulty and a nearly impossible awkward position, I watch the zipper and the heavy fabric of the wedding dress and resist the temptation to grunt. No wonder I spent the entire night with this dress constricting me; it’s impossible to take off alone, especially after whiskey, vodka, and lots of champagne…

Hah, I should look for Elodie—

“Turn around, Charlotte,” Christopher says abruptly, his voice authoritative. “I’ll take your dress off.”

“What?!” My voice comes out louder and sharper than I would like. I swallow hard when I notice the hint of a pretentious smirk he gives, pleased with my reaction. I clear my throat, adding with a more composure tone, “There’s no need. I don’t need your help.”

I cross the room, holding the heavy fabric of the skirt firmly between my fingers, passing by Christopher, who just looks at me with curiosity, a sparkle of amusement shining in them.

“You wanted this wedding so much that you plan to sleep in the dress?” His provocation hits a very sensitive nerve in me, and I turn sharply, looking at him with narrow eyes.

“Believe me, you have no idea how much I want to take this damn thing off,” I retort, annoyed — and at my sudden reaction, so unexpected to me and even to Christopher, I add, a bit embarrassed, “But I don’t need you to take it off. Actually, that’s the last thing I want.”

“Is that so? Tell me, how do you plan to take it off?” His voice is steady, and just like his eyes, he seems cold and almost angry. “Do you really think you could take it off alone?”

“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t ask you.” I cross my arms, making my breasts slightly jump at the neckline of the dress, and that attracts Christopher’s eyes for a moment. I feel my skin burn and swallow hard, my body heating up with frustration, anger, and a certain shyness.

“Will you ask someone else to take it off, then?” He also crosses his arms, mirroring my movement, but his muscles are much stronger and more defined. Christopher has always liked physical activities, and he has been involved in various hobbies that involve moving the body from an early age.

I look up, meeting his eyes… finding something dangerous flicking in them, daring me to answer with the wrong words.

“It’s none of your business,” I retort again, bitter, turning my back to him again as I uncross my arms, lowering my hands back to the sides of the dress’ skirt. “This isn’t a real marriage, anyway.”

I walk to the attached bathroom, and Christopher follows me with calm steps and his usual composed posture, stopping at the threshold of the door still with crossed arms. His gaze measures me from head to toe, burning my skin as if I were too close to the sun.

I try to ignore his presence, removing the heavy jewels and tossing them onto the sink, jewels that no longer carry any meaning for me... after all, all this luxury is senseless.

Again, my expectations are broken when Christopher remains standing, watching me again through the mirror. Our eyes meet through the reflection, and I find only seriousness in his resolute expression.

Has he always been this stubborn?

“Why are you still here?” I slap my hands on the sink, with our eyes locked, even though I’m still facing away from him. He tilts his head as if my question were stupid, and I insist, “I told you I don’t need your help.”

“I can’t just leave,” he says casually.

“Why?”

“Thanks to your radiant face during the wedding,” Christopher doesn’t disguise the sarcasm of his calm words. “The Earl thinks I did something that frustrated you and demanded that I fix it. As you well know, I entered this marriage to please my grandfather and ensure that the whims of a spoiled girl do not jeopardize my rights as an heir.”

“Are you sure it was my fault?” I retort, pulling my hair forward over my shoulders. “Maybe it was your delay… or maybe you were wearing all-black on the day of your wedding, breaking your family tradition.”

Christopher steps closer, entering the bathroom and my personal space, with his eyes still locked on mine through the reflection.

“There’s something I didn’t know about you, Charlotte,” he stops behind me, dangerously close; I can almost feel his heat on my back. “Your tongue is surprisingly sharp.”

I open my lips to retort but swallow a startled yelp when Christopher gives a firm tug on the laced cords that tighten the corset, making me lean over the sink.

Christopher looks up only for an instant, then lowers his eyes again, loosening the cords one by one with enviable precision, but so slowly it makes my insides twist.

“Funny, I didn’t know you were so meddlesome.” I retort, and he pulls the corset even tighter, a strong tug that inevitably makes me moan softly.

Christopher looks up, surprised, and I press my lips, lowering my head and focusing on my decorated nails, which are so healthy and long... I try to focus on the beauty of the polish, the rhinestones, and the delicate white designs, thinking about how long it’s been since I painted them and not on the fact that my husband finally loosens all the cords of the corset and lets the accessory fall to the ground.

I hold my breath as his skilled hands quickly find the zipper of my voluminous skirt. He releases the hook with a soft click and lowers it carefully, loosening the skirt around my hips. With a gentle and careful motion, he pulls the dress down, which slides easily to gather at my feet, freeing me with surprising ease.

I lift my head, trying to control my breathing and the rapid beats of my heart.

Christopher looks up again, meeting my eyes through the reflection, and they look intense in a different way.

The silence between us is dense, charged with the electricity of the moment. The soft light of the bathroom casts a warm glow on my skin as Christopher, with firm but careful hands, finds the delicate zipper on the side of the dress.

He pauses, his eyes meeting mine in a look that mixes hesitation and something I can’t quite identify before slowly and intentionally pulling the zipper down.

Christopher lowers the straps of my dress, and it slips smoothly. It falls into a pile of fabric at my feet, revealing the meticulously chosen bridal lingerie.

The piece is sensual fine lace with elaborate details, fitting each curve of my body. The design is bold, with strategic cutouts and a play of transparencies that suggest more than it shows, enveloping me in a veil of mystery and promise.