Page 99 of Ruled By Rivalry

“Someone asking doesn’t usually mean much,” I argued.

“You asked, Maeve.”

Okay, the plan wasn’t working. I wasn’t calming down, and my cheeks still burned feverishly. I’d give changing the subject one more shot.

“How am I getting home, then?” Maybe going back to teasing would finally snap him out of that streak of perfect answers that made me ache for him. So far, he was going two for two. And the wine wasn’t helping. “If there’s no security to escort me home, and the city’s so dangerous at night.”

He looked at me like he couldn’t believe it. “You think I’m leaving this place without you?”

Three for three. “What if I want to stay?”

“Then I’ll wait.” He finally overcame that urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. He’d been itching to do it. I felt it whenever his hand twitched up, then lowered again, grazing my skin every time. “Until you’re ready.”

“Until I leave,” I said in clarification. More so for myself, and whatever was happening in my stomach at the words. The other way they could be interpreted.

“Right.” Smile. Dimples. I hated that I loved it. “Exactly.”

Chapter 38

Since that night, hating Elliot had become significantly harder, and avoiding him an impossibility, like every cell in my body was singing his name.

I skipped my run in the morning to see the surprise on his face when he ambled into the kitchen and saw me there. I took longer getting ready so that we’d leave at the same time, still not making conversation, but walking together. In meetings, I looked at him when I shouldn’t, and talked to him when necessary.

About our idea for Daphne’s dress, about that second layer he suggested metal for, not fabric. I listened, and it surprised me too.

The bolder, the better. I didn’t just want to impress Camila with this; I wanted Oliver on my side, too.

Now, we had about twelve more hours until Daphne and Ryan would stand on our proverbial doorstep. Twelve hours until her dress and his suit needed to look good enough to blow them away.

So far, her dress looked fine in theory, pinned to a mannequin in the far corner of the third-floor studio, where I’d been bringing my—our?—vision to life. Another reason why being mad at Elliot had become impossible: He was trying to help, which was more than I’d expected after the tantrums I’d thrown.

But he brought me coffee from the shop, raspberry-flavored water when I didn’t ask, and always made sure there was something edible within reach. An apple, Chinese takeout, a whole pie of Margherita pizza.

As someone who’d been forced to keep a tight budget for . . . forever, I wasn’t complaining.

I circled the mannequin, plopping a grape into my mouth and ignoring the way Elliot’s eyes followed me, not what I was pointing at. “Do you think she’ll find it too sheer?”

Because it was. A very pale pink, very thin fabric—basically see-through.

“I think the outer layer will hide the important bits.” He nodded absentmindedly. I didn’t think he knew I could see the way he was still looking at me, not the dress.

I skipped over to the second mannequin, which held the outer layer of recycled metals sprayed with rose gold, along with flowers in the same color, all made from the same material. “It should be more.”

“More what?” he asked.

“Just more. The concept’s nice, but it looks boring.” I sighed. “The blossoms should be diamonds. The twigs should be studded, too. Otherwise, this outer body isn’t really doing it for me.”

“Can be arranged.”

“Not until tomorrow,” I argued, hands gliding across the base dress again, feeling the thin fabric between my fingers. “It’s definitely too see-through.”

Elliot got up from the stool he’d been sitting on, only shifting his gaze to the dress when he stood barely five inches in front of me. “Remember when I said that sometimes you overprepare?”

“Vaguely,” I lied.

“This is one of those moments.” His brows rose. “Daphne trusts you; she’ll love it.”

“And Ryan?”