Ella stood in front of the full-length mirror in the private suite, the emerald gown hugging her figure like it was made for her. The fabric shimmered in the soft lighting, catching the deep green of her eyes. She smoothed her hands over the bodice, feeling out of place and overdressed, wondering how a girl like her ended up in a fairytale like this.
Before she could say anything, she heard it—a long, appreciative whistle.
She turned—and there he was.
Nicholas sat back lazily on the plush velvet couch, arms stretched along the top, one ankle crossed over the other, looking like he owned the world. His eyes, those impossible stormy gray ones that always made her breath stutter, were locked on her like she was the only thing in it.
"Do you have to look at me like that?" she asked, trying and failing to sound stern as warmth bloomed on her cheeks.
