GRACE POV
Some clothes, he said.
Some dresses, he said.
Liar.
What Connor had in that closet wasn’t “some” clothes. It was a full-blown *Devil Wears Prada* fantasy, minus Meryl Streep and judgmental glances. Cozy wool sweater dresses, silk gowns that looked like they’d melt off the skin, skirts that barely qualified as fabric, and jumpsuits that screamed red carpet. There were textures I didn’t even recognize. Patterns and colors that shouldn’t have made sense but somehow did. Neutrals, reds, blacks, deep jewel tones.
And the shoes.
Oh god, the shoes.
He had boots—ankle, knee-high, over-the-knee. Stilettos and kitten heels and platform sneakers. A pair of strappy heels in iridescent sapphire that looked like they’d been custom-made by a fae godmother. I half-expected them to shimme
