Chapter 5 - The Master Seamstress
Emily stood motionless in his embrace, her breath catching in her throat as his words settled into her skin.
"Adrien..." she choked out.
"Listen to me," he interrupted gently, taking her right hand and placing it flat against his chest, right over his heart. Beneath his thick wool coat and crisp cotton shirt, his heart was hammer-thudding in a rapid, heavy rhythm. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"That happens every single time you walk into a room," Adrien said, his dark eyes staring directly into hers with an intensity that burned away every doubt she had carried for months. "When I see you in your cardigans, when I see you in your sweatpants, when I see you completely naked in my bed... my heart does that. You are the only woman who has ever had that power over me."
He released her face, reached down to the glass table, and picked up the black box.
With one smooth movement, he pulled the silk ribbon free and lifted the lid. The deep, dark midnight-blue silk spilled over his arm like liquid night sky, soft and shimmering beneath the chandelier light.
"I didn't send measurements from a magazine to Paris, Emily," Adrien said softly, lifting the dress from its bed of tissue paper. "I gave Madame Laurent the exact dimensions of the woman I love. I told her I wanted silk that would drape over your hips without restricting them. I told her I wanted a neckline that showed off these broad, beautiful shoulders."
He held the dress up against her body.
The midnight-blue silk clung to her chest, tapered tightly at her waist, and flared dramatically over her full hips, cascading down to the floor in heavy, liquid folds.
In the three-way mirror behind her, Emily looked at herself.
For the first time in months, she didn't look at her body through the cruel, critical lens of Vanessa Whitmore or the society columnists. She looked at herself through the eyes of the man holding the fabric against her skin.
She saw the rich, deep blue making her dark brown eyes look almost luminous. She saw the way the draped neckline framed her collarbones. She didn't look smaller—she looked statuesque. She looked like a painting from the Renaissance, rich, full, and breathtakingly alive.
"You really... you really dictated the cuts?" Emily whispered, touching the silk seam near her waist.
"Every inch," Adrien said, bending down to kiss the sensitive skin right beneath her ear, making her shiver. "Madame Laurent tried to suggest a stiff corseting structure to 'slim' the silhouette. Do you know what I told her?"
Emily turned her head slightly. "What?"
"I told her that if she put a single steel bone in this dress to crush your waist, I would buy her fashion house and shut it down," Adrien said flatly. "I told her your body is a masterpiece, and her only job was to frame it."
Emily let out a wet, breathless laugh, tears welling in her eyes again—but this time, the heavy weight of shame that had sat on her chest for months began to lift, dissolving like morning mist under a hot sun.
"You're insane, Adrien," she whispered, leaning back against his chest.
"I am completely out of my mind for you," he agreed, wrapping his large arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his broad frame. "And tomorrow morning, you and I are going to handle this private group chat."
Emily blinked, looking at his reflection in the glass. "What do you mean?"
Adrien’s expression hardened, his dark eyes flashing with a cold, ruthless resolve. "You said someone leaks the invoices from the boutiques?"
"Yes."
"That means someone inside my personal accounts team or the design house is taking money to embarrass my wife," Adrien said softly. "Marcus is already running a trace on every IP address linked to that chat. By sunrise, I will have every name, every message, and every photograph they posted."
May you like
He turned her around in his arms, looking down at her face.
"And next week," Adrien continued, "you are going to wear this midnight-blue dress to the Moretti Foundation gala. You are going to walk into that ballroom on my arm, and you are going to watch every single one of those people bow their heads to the Queen of Chicago."
