One Night With My Alpha Professor
“I already told you that I’ve accepted my identity as the Silver Star. This is part of that identity, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
My mate’s shoulders slumped a little, but it was a gesture of relief and not disappointment.
“Now,” I said, striding over to the sewing room and flinging open the door, “if I’m going to make a public appearance, I’m going to need a dress, won’t I?”
…
The dress was perfect. It was beyond perfect—it was everything I had hoped for and then some.
The black fabric was flecked with a silvery shimmer, the long sleeves coming down to sharp points at the back of my wrists. A sheer silver drape was attached to the shoulders, flowing like a waterfall down my arms