Page 31 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

“My company is the least of what I could lose.”

“What else?”

“Get dressed,” he commanded flatly.

“Another truth I’m not ready for?”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “Nine-thirty. Do not make me come back here for you.” He turned to leave.

“Damien.”

He paused.

“If you ever enter this room without my permission,” Aria said, her voice lethal, “the marriage ends. I don’t care what it costs me.”

His back remained turned to her. “Understood.”

Once he was gone, the stylists opened their cases. Sofia removed three garment bags: a structured ivory suit, a long-sleeved rose dress, and a silk white gown.

The white dress fell below the knee—deceptively simple, except for the backless silk that tapered at the waist and exposed one shoulder.

“That one,” the red-haired stylist urged.

Aria touched the silk sleeve. “Who picked this?”

The women exchanged a brief look. “Mr. Blackthorne,” Sofia admitted.

“Of course he did.” Aria turned away. “I’m wearing the suit.”

At nine twenty-seven, Aria descended the floating staircase in the structured ivory suit.

Damien waited at the bottom. His eyes swept over her slowly, making no effort to hide his disapproval. “That is not the dress selected for you.”

“I know.”

“Change.”

“No.”

Helena stood near the dining alcove, face carefully neutral. Lucien waited by the private elevator, an earpiece tucked into his ear.

Damien stepped up onto the first step. “The photographs will circulate worldwide within minutes.”

“Then the world will see me in an ivory suit.”

“The dress was chosen to coordinate with my suit.”

“I am not an accessory.”

“You agreed to maintain the appearance of a genuine marriage.”

“Genuine wives choose their own clothes.”

“Genuine wives occasionally enjoy pleasing their husbands.”

“You’ve been my fiancé for less than twelve hours,” Aria countered, “and you have pleased me exactly once.”

His gray eyes narrowed slightly. “When?”