Chapter 64
Chapter 64:
“Turn around,” Jerry said. He placed his hands on her hips to rotate her.
Gaston stood up. “I’ll do it p>
Jerry paused, an amused eyebrow arching. “You’ll do what? Measure p>
“Yes p>
“Since when do you know how to measure an inseam, Gaston p>
“Give me the tape,” Gaston said. It wasn’t a request.
Jerry handed over the yellow tape with a smirk. “Possessive much?” he muttered, stepping back.
Gaston walked over to Jocelyn. The room suddenly felt very small. He smelled of sandalwood and crisp winter air.
“Arms up,” he murmured.
Jocelyn lifted her arms. Her breath hitched as Gaston circled the tape around her waist. He didn’t simply hold the tape — his knuckles grazed her ribs. His hands were warm, large, and steady. She tried to rationalize the feeling. He’s just being theatrical for Jerry, playing the part of the doting husband. That’s all this is. An act.
He pulled the tape taut. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that she felt contained.
ѕ𝘩𝖺𝗿𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝘳 f𝘢𝗏𝗼𝗿𝗶t𝘦𝘴 f𝘳о𝘮
He moved behind her to measure her shoulders, stepping in close. His chest brushed against her back. She could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Breathe,” he whispered in her ear.
“I am,” she squeaked.
“No, you’re holding it.” His hands slid down her arms to her wrists. “Relax p>
It was impossible to relax. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming. This wasn’t measuring. This was mapping. He was memorizing her. It felt too real, too intimate for a performance. The thought flickered through her mind — Could he be acting for me, too? — but she stamped it out. It was too dangerous a thought to entertain.
He knelt down to measure the hem. His face was inches from her stomach. Jocelyn looked down at his dark hair, the urge to run her fingers through it almost overwhelming.
“Thirty-four inches,” Gaston said, his voice rougher than usual. He stood up and handed the tape back to Jerry without looking at Jocelyn, then walked straight to the water cooler and poured himself a glass.
Jerry grinned. “Right. Well. I have the sketches p>
He pulled a large portfolio from a table and flipped it open.
“Lavender,” Jerry announced.
The sketch showed a gown of flowing silk chiffon in a soft, dusty purple — high neck, open back. It was stunning.
“Why lavender?” Jocelyn asked, touching the paper.
“Gaston insisted,” Jerry said. “He said it’s the color of royalty. And… something about a memory p>
Jocelyn looked at Gaston. He was gazing out the window, his back to them.
“It’s just a color,” Gaston said. “It suits her skin tone p>
Jocelyn stared at the drawing. When she was twelve, she had written in a diary that she wanted to get married in a field of lavender. But that diary had been lost years ago. In the attic.
A chill went down her spine. Coincidence. It had to be.
The drive back to the penthouse was quiet. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of the Porsche.