(Grace’s POV)
Later that night, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, Sophie's dossiers spread around me.
I should be studying, memorizing names and faces and conversation topics.
Instead, I keep thinking about the boutique. About Dorian standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders, calling me beautiful.
About what happened in the living room, his hands, his lips, his body pressed against mine.
The look in his eyes had been different. Hungry. Like he was starving—really starving—for me.
And for one stupid, reckless moment, I'd let myself loose. I’d allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if we were a real couple.
If that look in his eyes meant something beyond our contract. If it promised a future together.
I roll over, punching the pillow.
Stop it, Grace. Stop torturing y
