Page 49 of Outcast

The guards opened the door, which led to a carved, mahogany staircase, lit by a hexagonal skylight. Antique crystal adorned the walls between portraits of men who bore a resemblance to Henry. He explained that this part of the store led to private dining rooms and apartments used by the family whenever they returned to London.

After dining on coq au vin served with burgundy wine at an intimate dining room, we returned to the public area of the department store. Every major designer had a concession at Bournveilles: Chanel, Gucci, Yves St. Laurent, Prada… I stopped noticing after Dior because my head spun at all the choices.

Edward stepped back and swept his gaze up and down my body, making me flush. “What do you think, Blake? Is Hobson a Chanel girl?”

“Givenchy. She has that Audrey Hepburn chic.”

I drew my elbows into my body and dipped my head. “Hardly.”

Henry placed a hand on the small of my back, and I couldn’t help thinking about our last night in that room, when he’d caressed my belly and… I gulped, bringing my attention back to the boys and back to the department store. He asked, “Is there a designer you particularly like, Emilia?”

I closed my eyes and pictured Mom’s wedding dress. “Tom Ford.”

Henry’s lips spread into a grin of dimples, white teeth, and sparkling green eyes. “Tom Ford, it is, then.”

The man at the Tom Ford concession store showed me his selection of ballgowns. None of them looked right. I’d always pictured myself with an asymmetrical neckline, like Mom on her wedding day to Dad. It was before her career had taken off, and neither of them had much money. She’d designed the dress with a student of fashion, basing it on Roman togas. I pulled out my smartphone, showed him the picture of Mom, and asked if he had anything with this silhouette.

He disappeared into the storeroom and brought back a dress from a previous season. It wouldn’t be a perfect fit, but he took me into a mirrored fitting room the size of my dorm and pinned the dress in place. I clapped my hand to my mouth and gasped at the way he’d made the fabric skim my figure. This was exactly what I wanted.

When I stepped out, dressed in my skinny jeans, the boys’ faces fell. Henry stepped forward, brows drawn. “Didn’t you find anything you liked?”

Happiness bubbled up to my chest. “I did.”

“Where is it?” He glanced around, looking for the assistant. “We wanted to see you in the gown.”

“They’re making alterations. You’ll have to see the final version on the night of the ball.”

Blake shook his head and smiled. “Always keeping us on our toes.”

I smirked. “Don’t I ever?”

After Henry paid the cashier with his ebony store card, we returned to the limousine. One side of it had been decked out with ice, slices of lemon, and condiments like an oyster bar, and a magnum of champagne in a special, ice-filed compartment. Blake leaned over, dark eyes smoldering. “You know why oysters are considered an aphrodisiac?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“It’s the amino acids,” he said in a smoky drawl. “They increase the production of sex hormones and stimulate sexual desire. But I like to think it’s the slippery, sensual, slide of the oyster going down.”

My gaze automatically the length of his body, but I forced it back to his eyes in case it reignited the arousal from the night I’d hidden under the coffee table.

Edward chuckled. “Stop teasing the girl and drink your champagne.”

“It’s no tease.” He placed his glass to his lips. “If you’re ever curious about how I can last all night on oysters, you only have to ask.”

Henry’s green eyes danced with excitement. “He’s not joking about his staying power.”

I sipped my champagne, inhaling the alcohol-scented bubbles popping at the surface. “How would you know?”

The corner of his mouth curved. “Let’s put it this way. Best friends share everything.”

Blake raised a brow. “Everything.”

“Everything?” I glanced at Edward.

“They’re exaggerating. I wouldn’t share my last Rolo with anyone, but if there was something…” His gaze lingered on the neckline of my tank top, skimmed down my breasts, thighs, and then made a slow journey back to my eyes. “Or someone, we all adored, we wouldn’t squabble over it. We would be gentlemen and share.”

Blake rolled his eyes. “When he says ‘it,’ he means ‘her.’”

“You.” Henry pointed his flute at me.