9. Lace and Denial

“What?!” My voice comes out louder and sharper than I would like. “No!”

I swallow hard at the hint of a pretentious smirk he gives, pleased with my reaction, and clear my throat, adding in a more composed tone, “There’s no need. I don’t need your help.”

I cross the room, gripping the heavy fabric tightly between my fingers, passing by Christopher, who simply looks at me with curiosity, a gleam of amusement shining in his eyes.

“You wanted this wedding so badly that you plan to sleep in the dress?” His provocation strikes a very sensitive nerve in me, and I turn sharply, narrowing my eyes as I look at him.

“Believe me, you have no idea how badly I want to take this damn thing off,” I retort, annoyed — and surprised by my own reaction, which even catches Christopher off guard.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I don’t need you to take it off.” I add, a bit embarrassed, “Actually, that’s the last thing I want.”

“And how do you plan to take it off, then?” Christopher’s voice is steady, and just like his eyes, he seems cold and almost angry. “Do you really think you could do it alone? Because it’s clearly not working.”

“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, burning my bare skin.

I swallow hard, feeling my body heat up with frustration, anger, and a touch of shyness.

“You’re not planning to ask someone else to take it off, right?” He also crosses his arms, mirroring my movement, but his muscles are much stronger and more defined.

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

“It’s none of your business,” I retort bitterly, turning my back on him again as I uncross my arms and let my hands fall back to my sides.

“Actually, it is — my business as your husband.”

“I thought that I made it clear this isn’t a real marriage.” I walk to the attached bathroom, trying to erase his presence from my sigh.

There’s no way in hell I’d let him put his hands on me tonight, not after what he did the first time. Besides, I don’t need him touching me so soon. That will only happen once, on the day Henry is conceived, four months from now. And that’s it.

However, Christopher follows me with steady steps and his usual composed posture, stopping at the threshold of the door with crossed arms. His gaze evaluates 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 mean anything to me... after all, all this luxury is pointless.

But again, against my shattered expectations, Christopher remains there, watching me once more through the mirror.

Our eyes meet through the reflection, and I notice only seriousness in his fixed expression.

Has he always been this stubborn?

“Why are you still here?” I slap my hands on the sink, keeping 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!”

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

“Why not?”

“Thanks to your radiant face during the wedding,” Christopher says with a hint of sarcasm in his calm tone. “The Earl believes I did something that upset you and demanded that I fix it. As you know, I entered this marriage to satisfy my grandfather, gain his favor again, and ensure that the whims of a spoiled girl don’t threaten my rights as heir.”

“Are you sure it was my fault?” I retort, pulling my hair forward over my shoulders. “It might be because you were late… or because you wore all black on your wedding day, like at some kind of funeral instead of celebrating your damn marriage.”

“I was grieving.” He smirks, his words too casual to be taken seriously.

“Oh, my condolences.” I roll my eyes, my fingers lightly scratching the sink. “Want a little pat on your back? A shoulder to cry on?”

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

“It seems 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, almost ripping the corset, making me lean over the sink.

He glances up briefly, then quickly looks down again, loosening the cords one at a time with elegant precision, but so slowly it twists my insides.

“And you’re meddlesome.” I retort, and he pulls the corset even tighter, giving a strong tug that makes me moan softly.

Christopher looks up, surprised, and I press my lips together, lowering my head and focusing on my decorated nails, which are so healthy and long.

I try to concentrate on the beauty of the polish, the rhinestones, and the delicate white designs, thinking about how long it’s been since they have been painted, instead of 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 it around my hips.

With a gentle, careful motion, he pulls it down, making it slide smoothly to gather at my feet and freeing me with unexpected ease.

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

The silence between us feels heavy, charged with the energy of the moment. The soft bathroom light casts a warm glow on my skin as Christopher, with steady but gentle hands, finds the delicate zipper on the back of the dress.

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

Christopher gently loosens the straps of my dress, and it slips smoothly down. It falls into a heap of fabric at my feet, revealing the carefully selected bridal white lingerie.

The piece is made of sensual, fine lace with intricate details, hugging every curve of my body. Its design is daring, featuring strategic cutouts and a delicate play of transparencies that hint at more than it reveals, wrapping me in a veil of mystery and promise.

He breathes deeply, his eyes following the line of my body in the lingerie, my breasts, my waist, hips… then lifts to meet my flushed face.

“You know, Charlotte… for a bride who swears she doesn’t want me, you’ve done a terrible job dressing like you mean it.”

Christopher leans in just enough for his breath to graze my ear, his voice dropping a few tones, his smirk curving lazily…

“Tell me… You really think lace and denial make a convincing combination?”

My mind is going blank, and my entire body feels like it’s on fire.

“What did you just say?” I growl, my body trembling with barely contained fury, at the sheer absurdity, at the shame — and at things I would rather die than admit out loud.

God, I really shouldn’t have drunk so much, especially since my twenty-two-year-old body doesn’t have the resistance built up over more than twenty years.

“I’m just saying...” His voice drips with that maddening patience I’ve come to hate. “If you wanted to make a point, you shouldn’t have picked something quite so... provocative.”

A dry, sharp, humorless laugh escapes me — half disbelief, half irritation, “You think I wore this for you?”

Once, I had it. But if I’d had the chance to go back in time a little earlier, I’d have swapped it for rags and set it alight just to watch it burn.

“And who else would it be for?” His eyes narrow slightly. “It’s my ring on your finger. You stood at that altar beside me.”

“Yes,” I say, my voice cold and sharp. “And I’m already starting to regret it.”

Christopher takes my words as if they were bitter on his tongue, and he laughs too — a sound very like my own, dry and humorless, as if I’ve struck a nerve in him just as he did to me.

“Regret?” His smirk falters just a little, barely an inch. “Do you want to know what I think, Charlotte?”

“No, I don’t.”

He leans closer, dangerously close, and as much as I hate it, as much as I try to fight it... I can’t avoid the shiver running up my spine.

“… I think you’re lying. I think you’re putting on a facade.”

“A facade?” I suppress a giggle but swallow a surprised moan when Christopher touches the middle of my back with his knuckles, a touch so light and unexpected that it sends another shiver through me.

Goddamn you, Christopher Houghton!

I tilt my head and clear my throat to regain my composure.

“You’re delusional.”

“Delusional? No... I can see, Charlotte.”

Christopher takes the final step to close the space between us, pressing his chest against my back. Even though he’s wearing that shirt, I can feel his heat radiating onto my bare skin.

“See what?” My breath catches, but I pretend I’m not feeling anything.

But he notices, of course… I can tell by the way he smirks, his breath tickling my neck.

“This… change of yours. This tough act…” he hums dangerously close to my shoulder, and even though his lips don’t actually touch my skin, I can almost feel the vibration of his next words, “Are you playing hard to get now?”

Hah, the nerve!

“…Is this a new pathetic attempt to seduce me, wife?”