Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 83: New Dress

Sarah

Matthew nods and grabs his keys from the counter.

"Let’s go then. Before you pass out on the way to the car," he mutters.

I don’t even bother rolling my eyes. I’m too busy trying to hide the stupid smile tugging at my lips.

He’s coming with me. And I know it’s a small thing, but with Matthew, even the smallest things feel like victories.

The dress boutique is tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place that smells faintly of lavender and luxury. The moment we walk in, a woman with perfectly styled hair and an overly bright smile greets us.

"Welcome! Looking for something special today?"

I nod. "An evening gown—for my parents’ anniversary party."

"And a suit for him," I add, nudging Matthew.

He grimaces like I’ve sentenced him to death by shopping.

The woman beams. "Perfect. I’ll have a few gowns brought to the fitting room for you, and I’ll show your husband to our tailored suit section."

Husband.

I don’t miss the way Matthew tenses slightly beside me when she says it.

"Right this way," she says cheerfully.

The attendant brings out a handful of gorgeous gowns in shades of midnight blue, emerald green, deep burgundy. I try on the first. It is an elegant, fitted navy dress with delicate lace sleeves. I step out of the fitting room to show Matthew.

He’s sitting on a velvet couch, arms crossed, legs stretched out like he owns the place. But his eyes sharpen the second he sees me.

"Well?" I ask, giving a little twirl.

He narrows his eyes. "Not bad."

"Not bad?" I repeat, hands on hips.

He smirks. "It’s okay."

I laugh despite myself. "Fine. No to this, then."

The second dress is green, with a dramatic slit and off-shoulder neckline. I step out again, feeling a bit more daring this time.

Matthew stops smiling

I wince. "Too much? Yeah, it doesn’t fit me. I should find something more...tame."

"No," he nearly growls. "It’s perfect."

Matthew stands, slow and deliberate.

His eyes travel down the length of the gown, lingering a bit too long at the slit that reveals just enough thigh to make my skin tingle beneath his gaze.

I shift awkwardly. "You don’t like it?" I ask again, even though I can feel the heat rolling off him like a silent answer.

"I said it’s perfect," he repeats, his voice lower now. Rougher. "That doesn’t mean I like the idea of you walking into a room full of people in it."

My breath catches in my throat. "Why not?"

His eyes snap up to mine. "Because everyone will look at you."

I blink. "That’s sort of the point of dressing up for an event, Matthew."

He steps closer. "Yeah, but they’ll look at you the way I’m looking at you. And I don’t want that."

My heart does this embarrassing flutter thing in my chest.

"Matthew..."

He stops himself before saying more, exhaling sharply and dragging a hand through his hair like he’s frustrated with himself. "Forget it. It’s fine. You look good. Get it."

I smile, unable to help it. "You sure? Because you seem like you’re about to fight someone."

He gives me a look. "Let one of those men stare too long at that slit, and we’ll find out."

I roll my eyes, but inside? I’m melting.

I go back into the fitting room, cheeks burning. God help me, why is he suddenly acting possessive like that? I change out of the gown, my fingers fumbling a little more than usual.

When I step out in my regular clothes, Matthew’s no longer on the couch.

"Your husband’s trying on suits," the saleslady says with a wink.

I head toward the other side of the boutique where I find him standing stiffly in front of a mirror, wearing a sleek charcoal gray suit.

He looks incredible. The kind of incredible that makes my knees weak and my brain forget how to function.

He sees me and raises a brow. "Well?"

"Not bad," I tease, mimicking his earlier words.

Matthew smirks. "It’s okay."

I step closer, pretending to smooth the lapels of his jacket just so I can touch him. "You always look so good in suits."

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I catch satisfaction in his eyes. Or maybe he just likes it when I say things like that, even if he’ll never admit it.

"You saying that just so I’ll stop complaining about shopping?" he asks, watching me closely.

"No," I say, fingers brushing the crisp line of his lapel.

His hand reaches out, slow and deliberate, resting lightly on my hip. His fingers flex there like he’s fighting the urge to pull me closer.

"Don’t tempt me," he murmurs.

I glance around, half expecting the saleslady to pop out of nowhere with another overly bright smile, but the room is blissfully empty.

"Why not?" I whisper.

We stare at each other in silence, the air between us thick with something electric and warm and a little bit reckless.

Finally, Matthew clears his throat and takes a step back, dragging his hand off me like it physically pains him.

"I’m getting this one," he says gruffly.

I nod, trying to steady my pulse. "Good. You should."

We pay and leave the boutique and walk out. As we head back to the car, Matthew reaches out and grabs my hand, surprising me.

I glance up at him, heart hammering. He doesn’t look at me, just keeps walking like nothing’s changed.

His hand is warm and steady in mine, his grip casual but firm, like he’s done this a hundred times before. Like this is something familiar. Normal.

I don’t say anything. I don’t want to break the moment. So I just walk beside him, trying not to smile too hard, trying not to read into the fact that his thumb is brushing lightly over my knuckles every few steps like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

When we reach the car, he unlocks it and opens my door before I can even reach for the handle. And okay, that might actually make me melt a little. Again.

"Thanks," I say softly as I slide into the seat.

He just gives a small nod, closes the door, and walks around to the driver’s side.

"Thanks for coming with me today," I say.

"You are welcome," he says curtly. freeweɓnøvel.com