The text from Bryce was cryptic. It said nothing more than “18th and Church, Six PM.” I felt like I was in some kind of spy movie, like I’d arrive there at the appointed time and take a seat on a bench where some guy in a trench coat would drop off a package or a folder of top-secret information.

I messaged Bryce back, but all he had to say in response was a single winking emoji.

Simply maddening, though I couldn’t help but grin.

Once work was done I took public transportation over to the corner, which was right by Mission Dolores Park in the Mission District. The weather was perfect, and the park was full of families enjoying the beginning of the weekend.

And I had a decision to make. If I was going to back out of this thing, now was the time to do it. Because once Bryce and I announced our engagement at the ball tomorrow, that was it—we were fake-married until the end.

I took a seat on a nearby bench, closing my eyes and letting the late-day sun warm my face. After a few minutes, I heard the low rumble of a car approach and come to a stop in front of me. I opened my eyes to see a cherry-red convertible parked. Bryce was seated behind the wheel, a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses on his face and an impish smirk on his lips.

“Going my way?” he asked, apparently totally aware of how cornball he was being.

I got up and rolled my eyes, a grin on my face. Bryce popped open the passenger’s seat, and I hopped in.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, settling into the seat’s very soft leather.

“We’ve got some shopping ahead of us. Thought I’d give you a ride there in style.”

“You could’ve just met me in front of the building, you know. We do work in the same place.”

“Yeah, but this is way more fun.”

He revved the engine, and we were off. I glanced over to take in Bryce. He was dressed in a pair of coal-black slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off his ropy, delicious forearms.

“So,” I said, watching the city pass us by, the wind blowing through my hair, “what sort of shopping did you have in mind?”

“If I remember correctly, you need a dress for the ball tomorrow. And if you’re getting a dress, I’m not going to let you have all the fun.”

I smirked. “What,” I said. “You going to buy one too?”

Bryce let out a quick bark of a laugh. “Funny,” he said. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” He grinned, letting me know it was all in good fun. “No,” he said. “I figure that if you’re getting a new dress, then I ought to get a new tux.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

“We’ve got an appointment with the tailor in a half-hour. What do you say we take the scenic route?”

“I say let’s do it.”

Bryce weaved through traffic, taking us through Presidio, the massive park at the north end of the peninsula. From there, the park stretched out on both sides of us, and I could see the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance, the sun glittering in the water below. The view was one of those spectacular sights you could only get in San Francisco.

The car banked to the left, and we were soon back among the Victorian houses of the city’s north side. After a few more minutes of driving, we parked in front of a small shop with a façade of tall glass windows. Two design forms were on both sides of the dark wood doors, the pair on the right in elegant gowns, the ones on the left in sharp tuxedos.

“This it?” I asked.

“This is it,” he said, stepping out.

Bryce helped me out of the car, and I took another look over the place, noting that other than the clothes in the windows, there was no sign that this place was even a business.

“This place have a name?” I asked.

Bryce flashed me a smile. “When you’re this good, you don’t need one.”

He approached the door and opened it, letting me step into the store. The interior was dark, the windows smoked to only let in the smallest traces of sunlight. All of the light came from the warm orange bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Dark oak dominated the décor, the floor a dark blue carpet. And all along the wall hung various men’s clothes and accessories, all neatly arranged.

Further down the shop, I spotted the women’s section, a row of dresses on mannequins in the center of the room. I eyed them eagerly, ready to try them on and decide on the perfect dress for tomorrow.

“Bryce?” came an elderly man’s voice from further down the shop.

“It’s me,” said Bryce.

A door to the side opened and a small, slight, but impeccably dressed older man stepped into the room. He regarded the two of us with friendly, watery-blue eyes.

“Mr. Winston,” said Bryce, approaching the man and offering his hand. “A pleasure as always.”

The man shook Bryce’s hand before turning his attention to me.

“And this must be the lovely young lady you were telling me about,” he said.

As he spoke, his eyes flicked here and there over my body. But it wasn’t in a sexual way—more that he was carefully inspecting my figure in an effort to figure out which dress would suit me perfectly.

“Let me guess,” he asked, taking my hand and giving it a polite shake. “Thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-six?”

He raised an eyebrow in anticipation of my answer. Sure enough, he was right on the money.

“Damn,” I said. “Exactly right.”

“Told you he was good,” said Bryce.

“Good-ish,” he said. “You know my wife’s the real expert with dresses.”

As if on cue, a middle-aged woman with dark blonde hair and slightly aged but still beautiful Slavic features came in from the door Mr. Winston had entered from.

“And there she is,” he said. “My name is Jeremy Winston, and this is my wife, Marlene.”

“A pleasure,” she said, glancing over my body just as her husband had.

“Chelsea Lane,” I said.

“I hear you two have a big evening ahead tomorrow,” said Marlene.

“That’s right,” said Bryce. “And I want my lovely date for the evening looking her best.”

“I think I can make that happen,” said Marlene. “But first, let’s get you both a little something to drink, shall we?”

She stepped out of the room, returning moments later with a bottle of expensive-looking champagne. Marlene popped the cork open and poured us two glasses. I took a long sip, the bubbles delicious on my tongue.

“I’ve never drunk champagne and tried on clothes before,” I said to Bryce.

“It’s the only way to do it,” he said.

“Now,” said Marlene. “Let’s get you into some dresses.”

She led me into the back room, a gorgeously lit area full of dresses. Drink in hand, I walked slowly in front of them, extending my hand and letting my fingers graze over the fabric. Each one was so beautiful I didn’t know where to begin.

“We’re going to want something tasteful, but eye-catching,” Marlene said, placing her chin in her hand in a thoughtful manner. “Something that commands attention without asking for it.”

“And something really pretty,” I said.

Marlene smiled. “Naturally.”

Marlene took me through the dresses one by one as I sipped my wine, the bubbles dancing in my head and giving me a light, pleasant feeling. We picked out a few dresses, and Marlene ushered me over to a five-panel mirror and had me try them on. Each one she looked over with a careful appraisal, taking a slow circle around me as she took in the details.

Eventually, I tried on a flowing, cobalt blue strapless dress, one that clung to my body and showed off just a hint of cleavage. It was sexy, but not too much.

“I think we have a winner.”

I turned, surprised, to see Bryce standing behind me. He was dressed in a dark tux, the bow undone and hanging open down both sides of his neck. The tuxedo was killer, making him look like the most dashing secret agent I could imagine.

He leaned against the door frame, a fresh glass of bubbling champagne in his hand.

I jumped a little, surprised to see him.

“Well,” said Marlene with a smile, “good to know we have the approval of the great Mr. Carver.”

He strolled up to me, his eyes locked onto the dress.

“Great color,” he said.

Then he reached forward and took a pinch of the fabric between his fingers, just over the curve of my hip. My face went flush at how near his skin was to mine.

“And feels wonderful to the touch,” he said, a seductively playful smile on his lips.

“Mind if we have a minute alone, Marlene?” he asked.

Marlene gave Bryce a nod and headed out. Once she was gone, Bryce stepped over to the bottle of champagne and brought it over, pouring me another glass.

“You think it looks good?” I asked, my eyes fixed on my reflection.

“You already know my opinion,” he said. “Let’s hear what you think.”

I did know his opinion. The way he was eye-fucking me made that abundantly clear.

I loved it. I was totally crazy over the dress, loving the way it clung to my body, showing off my figure and making me feel impossibly sexy.

“It’s great,” I said. “But it’s got to be so freaking expensive.”

“Cost is something you don’t need to worry about as long as we’re involved in this ruse of ours. All I need to hear is whether you love it or not.”

I turned my attention back to my reflection, considering the matter.

“It needs to be something you feel amazing in walking up the stairs tomorrow, the paparazzi snapping away.”

Then, he stepped to my side, slipping his arm around my waist. A thrill ran up my spine as soon as he touched me. Both of us regarded my reflection.

“We’re going to be very close all night, and very much under the spotlight. I want you to feel more than beautiful—I want you to feel ravishing, seductive, confident that every man there would claw out the eyes of the man next to him just to get a chance with you.” His mouth moved closer to my neck as his spoke, his breath warm against my skin. “Now, tell me—is that how you feel?”

Between the feeling of his arms around my waist and the nearness of his lips to my skin, I could barely think straight.

“This is a dangerous way to act if you’re wanting to keep the sexual tension down to a minimum,” I said, my pussy clenching hard.

“Just want to make sure my date feels as beautiful as she looks,” he said.

One of his hands opened and moved over across my belly. I closed my eyes, savoring his touch, hoping that he’d move down, down, maybe lift the hem of the dress, pull my panties to the side, and fuck me right here in front of the five-panel mirror.

“Bryce,” came a voice from behind us.

I turned quickly, the voice shocking me out of the moment. It was the tailor, standing at the entrance to the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sly smile. “Was I interrupting something?”

“Not at all,” said Bryce as he took his hands away and backed up a few steps, his voice suggesting he wasn’t startled in the slightest. “Just admiring the craftsmanship.”

“It’s a fine dress,” he said, flicking me a quick look with his eyes as he entered. “One of Marlene’s best, in my very biased opinion.”

He extended his hand to Bryce, which contained a small box.

“Found those cufflinks you were looking for,” he said.

“Perfect,” said Bryce, taking the box and regarding the shiny contents. “And I’ll take the tux.”

“Very good,” said the tailor. “I’ll have it ready for you to wear tomorrow night.”

Then he turned his attention to me.

“And the dress?” he asked.

Bryce raised his eyebrows in anticipation of my answer.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

“Then it’s yours.”