Chapter 11: "The Red Dress"

The red dress was a mistake and I wore it anyway.

I told myself it was because it was the nicest thing hanging in my closet, not because Killian had ordered it like he had any right to dictate my wardrobe. I told myself a lot of things while I stood in front of my mirror that Thursday evening, none of which I actually believed.

I tried on three other outfits first, just to prove to myself that I could. A pantsuit, too much like the office. A simple black dress, too much like a funeral, which felt fitting given how I expected the evening to go. In the end I stood in front of the mirror in the red dress anyway, hating how well it fit, hating more that some small, traitorous part of me wanted to see his face when he saw me in it.

My phone buzzed twice while I did my makeup. Cole, checking in from whatever mountain he was currently endangering himself on this week.

Cole: Don't sleep with either twin tonight. I mean it. I will fly home just to lecture you.

Me: No promises.

Cole: MIA.

I turned my phone face down and finished my lipstick, a deep, unapologetic red that matched the dress a little too well for comfort.

The restaurant he picked was the kind with no menu prices, tucked into the top floor of a building I couldn't afford to look at, let alone eat in. A private table sat waiting by the window, string lights strung along the balcony outside like he had ordered the whole city to perform for us.

A valet took my keys like he'd been expecting me by name, and a hostess in all black led me straight to the top floor without asking who I was there to meet. Apparently Killian Carter didn't need a reservation. He simply existed somewhere and the world rearranged itself around him.

"You came," Killian said when I arrived, rising from his seat with a smile that made the hostess visibly forget her own name.

"I said I would."

"You say a lot of things, princess. I've learned not to assume."

I sat across from him, smoothing the dress that was very much not a business suit, and refused to acknowledge the way his eyes tracked the movement. "This is excessive."

"This is Thursday," he said, pouring wine into my glass without asking. "Wait until you see excessive."

The view from the window stretched the entire length of Manhattan, a glittering carpet of light that made the whole city look smaller than it actually was, more manageable somehow, like a place two brothers might genuinely believe they could win for themselves. I focused on it instead of on Killian's face, mostly because looking directly at Killian's face for too long had a tendency to short circuit my better judgment.

"You're staring at the skyline instead of me," he observed, swirling his own glass. "I should be offended."

"You'll survive."

"Barely." He leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand, studying me with the kind of open, unguarded interest that made me want to squirm in my seat. "You look like you're bracing for something. Relax, princess. I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely."

"I am relaxed."

"You're holding that fork like it's a witness on cross-examination."

I set the fork down, annoyed that he'd noticed, more annoyed that he was right.

Dinner arrived in courses I hadn't ordered, each one somehow exactly what I would have chosen myself if given the chance. It should have unsettled me more than it did. Killian talked with his hands, told outrageous stories about business deals gone wrong in three different countries, one of which apparently ended with him being chased off a yacht by a very angry Italian shipping magnate, and made me laugh twice before I caught myself and stopped.

"You're not supposed to be this easy to talk to," I told him, swirling the wine in my glass.

"Nobody ever expects it," he said. "Kade gets all the credit for being the deep one. I just get called reckless. It's exhausting, honestly, being underestimated by everyone including my own brother."

"There it is," he said, watching me with something soft breaking through the usual smirk.

"There's what?"

"You laughing. Real laughing. Not the polite kind you give Kade."

I set my fork down. "This isn't a competition, Killian."

"Everything's a competition." He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine, the playful edge sharpening into something colder. "You think Kade doesn't know exactly what he's doing every second he's around you? The quiet stares, the slow burn act? He's not being patient, Mia. He's calculating. He's always calculating."

"And you're not?"

"I'm honest about wanting you. That's the difference."

The waiter cleared our plates and Killian's phone buzzed against the table. He flipped it face down without looking, but not before I caught the name on the screen.

Kade.

"You should get that," I said.

"I really shouldn't." He reached across the table and covered my hand with his, warm and certain, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles. "Tonight isn't about him."

I should have pulled away. I didn't.

"Can I ask you something?" I said instead, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. "That first night. Why did you really approach me?"

Something flickered behind his eyes, gone before I could name it. "Does it matter?"

"It matters to me."

He studied me for a long beat, the string lights catching gold in his dark hair, and for a second I thought he might actually tell me the truth.

Then his phone buzzed again, harder this time, three times in a row, and this time he flipped it over to check it.

His jaw went tight in a way that had nothing to do with me.

"What is it?" I asked.

"My brother," he said, voice flattening. "Apparently Friday isn't soon enough for him. He wants to know if I've 'ruined it yet.'"

I pulled my hand back into my lap, the warmth of it fading fast. "You told him about tonight?"

"I didn't have to. He knew the second I picked this restaurant." Killian set the phone face down again, harder than necessary, the easy charm from earlier draining out of him piece by piece. "He always knows. That's the problem with sharing a face with someone. There's no version of me he hasn't already lived through first."

"That's not an answer to what I asked you."

"Which question?"

"Why you really approached me. That first night."

He went quiet again, and this time the silence stretched long enough that I thought he might actually answer it. His eyes moved over my face slowly, like he was deciding how much of the truth I could survive hearing.

"Ask me again," he finally said, "after Kade takes you out tomorrow. I want to know if you still care about the answer once you've had a night with him."

He wouldn't say another word about it for the rest of the evening. He insisted on walking me down to the valet himself, his hand resting light and possessive at the small of my back, and when the car pulled up he held the door for me with a formality that felt strange coming from a man who had kicked his shoes onto my desk less than a week earlier.

"Thank you for tonight," I said, sliding into the driver's seat, unsure if I meant it.

"Don't thank me yet." He leaned down, forearm braced against the doorframe, close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath. "The night's not over until you're safely locked inside your apartment, princess. I intend to make sure of it."

"You're not following me home, Killian."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He straightened, stepping back, though the smirk on his face suggested he absolutely would dream of it, extensively, if given half a reason. "Sleep well, Mia. Try not to think about me too much."

I drove home with the windows down, cool air whipping through my hair, and spent the entire ride trying and failing to do exactly what he'd told me not to.