Author’s POV
Nina grabs her phone out of Wade's grasp. She asks, "What are you talking about?" and Wade narrows his eyes. "Someone named Matt just texted that his friend already has a date for Christmas dinner."
Nina blinks at the screen, scanning the message, then shakes her head. “I don’t know who this is,” she replies casually. “It must be a wrong number.”
Wade shrugs, his suspicions quickly dissipating as he realizes the person made a mistake. “Yeah, it must be.”
Without missing a beat, Nina deletes the message and puts the phone down. She turns to Wade and gives him a bright smile. “Okay, let’s get back to it. Go start over again in the bathroom and do exactly what I said.” She checks her reflection on her phone’s camera. “And hurry up. The dinner will start soon, and I want us to have the best seats.”
Wade exhales deeply and drags his feet as he stands. Annoyance bubbles in his chest, but he knows there’s no escaping this, so he wastes no more time protesting. He returns to the bathroom, gripping the mask bowl as if it were a weight tying him to Nina's never-ending schemes.
Behind him, Nina repositions her phone on the tripod, her mind already moving to the next plan. “Oh, and when we come back from dinner, we need to do a live,” she calls out to him. “I promised my followers a live where we officially announce being back together.”
Wade leans against the bathroom counter, groaning beneath his breath. “They saw the engagement. They already know.”
“Yes,” Nina agrees, her tone brisk, “but they don’t know the details. That’s what they’re dying to hear. Now focus.” She reclines on the sofa and places a dramatic hand over her stomach. "Action!" She calls out, and Wade steps out, forcing himself to act. He walks over, sits beside her, and gives her the most concerned expression he can muster. “How are you feeling?”
Nina sighs softly, playing up the act. "Not great," she says, and Wade begins to ask her where it hurts, rubbing her back soothingly. Nina tells Wade where it hurts before her expression softens, and her eyes shine with feigned gratitude as he offers her the mask. She leans in and places a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Babe. You’re the best.”
After some more acting, the scene concludes, and Nina leaps up to cut the video. She immediately begins editing, her fingers flying across the screen. “It’s perfect,” she mutters. “It’ll look natural,” while Wade slumps back on the sofa, watching her.
"Take out what you are going to wear," she says without looking up from her phone. "We need to match." Wade reluctantly pushes himself to his feet and walks to the closet. Just as he starts flipping through his clothes, Nina’s phone vibrates again, and she picks it up. It is a text message, and her face lights up with a dazzling smile as she reads it before she types back, I miss you too.
•••
Mika
I’m just out of the shower, towel wrapped around me, when there’s a knock at the door. Frowning, I glance at the clock. Channing should not be here for another hour and a half because dinner is not until then. I hope it's not him because I'm far from being ready.
Tightening the towel, I cross the room and open the door. A woman stands there, smiling brightly, holding two large bags.
“Hi!” She chirps. “You must be Mika?”
I nod, confused. “Uh, yes. That’s me.”
“Great!” she says, her smile widening. “I’m Lena, a makeup artist. Mr. Sullivan sent me to get you ready for the dinner—hair and makeup, the whole works!” It takes me a second to process her words, but I manage a polite smile and move aside to let her in. It is sweet, I suppose, but a nagging thought persists in the back of my mind. Does he not like the way I usually look?
Lena sets down her bags and looks at me expectantly. “Where would you like me to set up?”
"Over here," I gesture toward the mirror before pulling out a chair and sitting down, still feeling a little off. "So, what are we starting with?"
"Let us do your hair first," she says enthusiastically, and I unwrap the towel around my head, allowing my damp hair to fall loose. Lena's face lights up. "Wow, you have such gorgeous, full hair!"
A sheepish smile creases my facial features. "Thanks. I, uh... I usually just do my hair. I'm not accustomed to having someone else handle it." I confess, and she waves it off, promising the session won’t be weird or anything like that.
“Let’s give it a fresh wash first if that’s okay with you. It’ll help the style hold better.”
"Sure," I agree, and she pulls out a set of expensive-smelling products. My body instantly relaxes as the shampoo fragrance wafts through the cabin and Lena begins massaging my scalp with her magic hands. I can not help but sigh as a wave of contentment washes over me. “You’re good at this.”
"Thank you," she laughs. “I’ve been doing it for eight years. I recently opened my beauty spa in Pacific Heights."
My eyes snap open at that, “In San Francisco?” I ask, and she confirms and gives me the address, which is not far from my place. I tell her this before congratulating her on her new endeavor, and she says she hopes I stop by. “Thank you! It’s been a journey getting it off the ground,” she adds, and just like that, we’re chatting away like old friends.
I learn that it is common for men like Channing to send stylists and makeup artists to their girlfriends to prepare for special occasions. And I blink realizing she believes Channing and I are dating. “Oh, we’re not dating.” Quickly correcting that, Lena's eyebrows rise. “You’re not?”
“No,” I assure her, feeling my cheeks heat.
“Huh,” she says, tilting her head. “Well, forgive me, but he definitely likes you.” Laughing awkwardly, I try to brush it off. “No, no, it’s not like that. Trust me.” She does not seem convinced, but she lets it go and moves on to discussing hairstyle ideas.
Meanwhile, I tell myself that she is probably unaware of Channing's reputation. Otherwise, she would understand that this situation has nothing to do with feelings. He would not be interested in someone as plain as me. He is simply being kind.
Despite always knowing what I want, I am suddenly unsure which option to take. I tell her what kind of dress I will be wearing, and she decides for me, selecting a style that sweeps my hair up and exposes my neck and shoulders. It is elegant, the perfect complement to my dress's plunging back, and it makes my neck appear longer.
"Your neck is stunning," Lena remarks, stepping back to admire her work. “This style was made for you.” Smiling, I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Thank you.”
She then moves on to my makeup, and I must admit that I am initially skeptical because the colors appear to be bolder than I am used to. But as she finishes and hands me a mirror, I almost gasp. I don’t even recognize myself.
My eyes look larger, more striking, and full of life, and my skin glows like it’s been kissed by the stars. The way the colors blend feels luxurious, powerful even. I’ve never looked or felt this beautiful in my life.
“Wow,” Lena grins as I whisper. “Told you.”
I thank her, overcome by gratitude. She also works on my nails, combining gold, silver, and black to match my dress, and when she is finished, my mouth hangs once more.
Even though Channing has already paid her, I reach into my purse and pull out a few bills, feeling compelled to give her a tip for her efforts. But she raises her hands. “Oh no, no need for that. Trust me, I’ve been paid handsomely already.”
“Well, thank you again. Really.”
"Of course," she replies, already packing her tools. She then takes a glance at my garment bag. "Would you like help getting into your dress?" I nod, grateful for the offer.
I pull out the lingerie I purchased specifically for this trip. It feels strange, almost bittersweet, to wear it now, knowing who I had in mind when I bought it. But surprisingly, it doesn’t feel sad—just… liberating. Lena zips open the bag and exclaims when she sees the dress.
“This is stunning,” she says. “You’re going to look like a goddess.” Carefully stepping into the dress, she guides it up over my hips, fastening the straps and smoothing the fabric.
The dress hugs me perfectly, but when I look in the mirror, I freeze. “The slit,” I blurt, panicking. “It’s so high. What if—” Lena laughs softly. “It’s perfect. Trust me. You look like you stepped off a runway.”
Her confidence is contagious, and I manage a nervous laugh. “Okay. If you say so.”
Once the dress is on, I thank Lena again, and she grabs her bags to leave. "Enjoy your evening," she says warmly, walking to the door. "You, too," I say, watching her disappear into the hallway before returning to the mirror, suddenly overwhelmed.
The woman staring back at me looks… ethereal. Like she belongs to a different world, one that knows no pain, no disappointments, and I blink back the unwanted tears that will ruin Lena’s masterpiece. Carefully grabbing my heels, I slip them on before heading to the vanity to select a pair of earrings.
However, as I sift through them, none appear appropriate. All of them are either too small or too basic for a dress like this.
Looking in the mirror again, I decide not to wear them. My silver clutch sits on the dresser, and when I pick it up, I realize it matches perfectly. Just as I clasp it in my hand, there’s a knock at the door, and my heart skips as I glance at the clock. It’s time. I didn’t even notice how fast the time went.
I grab my perfume from the vanity and give myself a quick spritz before taking one last look in the mirror. My heart is already racing, but I take a deep breath and walk towards the door. When I open it, my breath catches.
Channing stands there, looking more devastatingly handsome than I have ever seen. His black and gold tuxedo complements my dress perfectly. And in his hands—my favorite flowers.
For a moment, neither of us speak. His gaze sweeps over me, intense and unwavering, and I am powerless to turn away. My pulse hammers in my ears as he opens his mouth as if to speak, then pauses, his lips twitching into a faint smile. The moment stretches on until I force myself to break the spell by clearing my throat.
His eyes flicker back to mine, and he blinks as if waking from a trance. “You look… beautiful,” he says softly, taking my hand in his and brushing his lips against it in a soft kiss. Flushing deeply, my voice comes out like a stranger’s as I mumble, “Thank you. You… You look amazing too.” He hands me the bouquet, and I clutch it to my chest. “These are gorgeous. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a warm gaze, and I step aside, inviting him in while I figure out where to set the flowers. I decide to put them on the vanity with the rest for the time being, promising to put them in water when I return.
But as I turn, I freeze: Channing has followed me, his steps purposeful but unhurried. His gaze doesn’t waver from mine. My voice comes out faster than my thoughts. “Thank you for… the dress, the flowers, the chocolates, and, um, the makeup,” as he stops just a breath away from me, his presence almost overwhelming.
“You’re welcome,” he says softly.
“Would you… like a drink before we go?” Desperate for a distraction, for anything to calm my racing heart, I ask but he declines.
“Maybe when we return,” he murmurs before reaching into the inside of his jacket as he adds, “I have something for you.”
“Again?” I'm barely holding it together as I breathe and his smile widens. "Yes. Please, turn around for me." My chest flutters as I comply with the request, which is soon followed by a cool sensation on the back of my neck.
My eyes widen as I look in the mirror to see him clasp a necklace around my neck. It’s exquisite, the kind of piece that makes a statement without being overdone, and I stop breathing entirely as his fingers graze my skin, warm and featherlight.
My body shudders involuntarily before it moves of its own accord as my thighs clamp shut.
“Perfect,” he whispers huskily, his breath brushing against my ear and this time I pool in my panties. Only after a moment do I exhale, my lungs burning from holding everything in.
“Channing… I—” My mind races for words as I turn to face him, my fingers lightly brushing against the necklace. “It’s beautiful. I don’t... know what to say. This is all too much. Thank you.”
His eyes hold mine, impossibly soft yet intense, as he says the words that make my knees turn to jelly. "Nothing is too much for you."
A shiver runs through my body, and I fall for my boss. I fall hard and completely, and for a moment we just stand there, both of us seemingly drowning in the moment, before I grab the last shred of my sanity just as it slips away. I force the words out, shaky but firm, knowing that one of us must act before doing something we will both regret. “We… should go.”
“Of course,” he replies, stepping back with a graceful nod as if he didn’t just tilt my entire world off its axis, and I grab my clutch. He extends his arm, which I take while scrambling for what’s left of my brain as we exit the cabin, suddenly terrified of this night.