(Grace’s POV)
I’m standing in front of my vanity, applying my lipstick in preparation to visit the Cross Mansion, when Dorian knocks.
"Grace?"
"Coming," I call back.
I take one more look in the mirror, then force myself to walk away. It doesn't matter how I look. This isn't real. Madam Elena doesn't need to love me. She just needs to believe we're married long enough for me to get my inheritance back.
That's it. That's all this is.
So why does my stomach feel like it's twisted into knots?
I open the door. Dorian's leaning against the wall, wearing dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looks effortlessly put together. Handsome. Rich. Powerful.
Everything I’m not.
His eyes travel over me, and I brace for criticism. For him to tell me to change, to red
