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RAE
I’ve been unconscious a few times in my life, none of them experiences I’d like to remember.
Now, I feel weak and small and helpless.
As the room comes back to me, hands yank on the laces at my back. Muttered cursing echoes in my ears.
Then all the tension disappears.
I suck in air, gallons of it.
Strong arms envelop me from behind. “Raegan. Breathe.”
I turn my face into him, his familiar scent invading my nostrils. His hands brush my bare ribs beneath my dress as if he can will my body to do what he commands.
Evidently, he can.
The fist in my chest loosens, my heartbeat slowing.
“Are you all right?” he demands as he comes into focus over me. Those familiar eyes are as blue as the collared shirt he wears, with a sharpness he can’t hide.
“Minor wardrobe malfunction,” I manage. “No big deal.”
“Here.” Annie passes Harrison a glass of water to give to me.
I get a few sips down as our friends and the designer look on.
Harrison helps me up. If jaw clenching were an Olympic sport, this man would be winning the gold right now. “What the fuck happened?”
“She didn’t fit into the dress,” comes a voice from behind him.
His hand tightens, the only warning before my fiancé turns his wrath on the designer. “It’s not my wife’s job to fit the dress. If the dress does not fit my wife, we have a problem, but I assure you it’s not hers.”
The woman’s face turns white, her mouth working as she realizes her mistake. “Of course, Mr. King, but I warned her.”
“You what?!”
“There was a donut—”
“GET OUT!” Harrison bellows, and the designer jumps. “Everyone.”
Footsteps and low voices trail toward the door.
“Rae?” Annie squares her shoulders, not about to be bossed around by my fiancé.
I hold up a hand, reassuring. “Give us a second.”
She nods and shoots Harrison a “don’t fuck with my girl” look before before the click of the latch signals everyone has moved to the hall.
I turn to face my fiancé. “Well, now you’ve seen the dress. How many years bad luck is that?”
I try to sound casual, but I’m caught off guard by the disappointment that washes over me.
He takes me in as if for the first time. My flushed face and messy hair. The opulent dress clutched to my bare chest.
Regret chasing the anger off his face. “You’re stunning. Standing, sitting, swooning…”
“It wasn’t a swoon—it was straight up oxygen deprivation.” But his attempt at a joke makes my mouth twitch despite the mood.
