Chapter 375: Shopping pt 2

Noah

I stopped in front of the glass, my eyes locked on the reflection. The clothes didn’t hide me; they highlighted the straight line of my back and the color of my eyes in a way that felt entirely unexpected. I stood there for a long time, just looking, unable to turn away from the stranger in the mirror.

Cyan appeared in the doorway behind me, his reflection joining mine. For once, the sharp, defensive grin was completely missing from his face, replaced by an expression that looked surprisingly genuine.

"Noah," he murmured.

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling very exposed. "Don’t say anything weird, Cyan."

"I was actually just going to say that you look really good," he said simply, his voice low and quiet. "Just that."

Then, he moved a step closer, his shoulder almost touching mine as the familiar, troublemaking grin slowly returned to the corners of his eyes. His voice dropped into a mischievous whisper. "Cassian would absolutely—"

"DO NOT," I begged, turning around quickly to stop him.

But they weren’t done with me.

Étienne reappeared from the back room like a priest carrying a sacred relic. He held the hanger out between two fingers, his face deadpan but his eyes gleaming with pure malice.

At this point, it was obvious they enjoyed dressing me up like a doll for their own amusement.

The costume was tiny. It was a crisp, white nurse’s outfit with a bright red cross stitched over the left pocket, cut so high and structured so tightly that it barely qualified as actual clothing paired with red fishnets. It looked less like something you would wear in a hospital and more like something you would wear if you wanted to cause a heart attack.

I stared at the fabric, my jaw dropping slightly. "No."

"Yes," Cyan said instantly, his sunglasses clicking onto the glass table.

"Absolutely not," I repeated, taking a step back toward the velvet armchair. "I am a grown man. I have an office job. I am not putting that on my body."

"Oh, but it is very tasteful, Noah," Étienne protested, lifting the hem to show just how little fabric there actually was. "The stitching is Italian. The cotton is organic."

"It is very small," I said, pointing a finger at it. "That isn’t a uniform. That’s a napkin with a cross on it."

Cyan rolled his eyes, stepping into my space and grabbing my shoulders to turn me toward the fitting room. "Those are not contradictory things, darling. Small can be tasteful. Small can be educational. Now get in there."

For the next ten minutes, the two of them tag-teamed me with a level of intense persuasion usually reserved for high-stakes international diplomacy. I held my ground as best as I could, digging my heels into the plush rug, but fighting Cyan when he had an idea was like trying to stop a landslide with a cardboard shield.

"Just try it on," Cyan pleaded, his voice dropping into a sweet, coaxing whine. "For science, Noah. Just for science."

I looked at him flatly. "What possible science requires me to wear a scandalous nurse outfit?"

"The science of looking incredible," Cyan said, giving me a little shove toward the heavy velvet curtain. "It’s a legitimate academic field. I have a degree in it. Go."

Two minutes later, I was standing inside the small cubicle, staring at my reflection with a sense of deep, profound regret.

The worst part about the costume wasn’t that it was ridiculous. The worst part was that it actually fit me perfectly.

The structured white lines clung to my waist, and the high hemline with the red fishnets showed off my legs in a way that I had never seen before and my ass cheeks were peeking out.

I stood there for a long time, my hands hovering over the red cross pocket, completely frozen because my brain didn’t have an immediate response to the person looking back at me.

This is insane, my mind whined. I look completely ridiculous. I am absolutely not buying this. If Cassian ever saw me...

I cut the thought off so fast it almost hurt. No. Stop. We are not doing that. Do not finish that sentence.

But my brain completely ignored the warning. The image arrived anyway, uninvited and terrifyingly detailed, flashing behind my eyelids before I could stop it.

I saw Cassian’s dark eyes narrowing, his jaw tightening as he looked me up and down, that slow, dangerous shadow crossing his face if he ever caught me standing in a room wearing nothing but this white fabric.

My reflection in the mirror went instantly warm, a heavy rush of heat flooding my cheeks until my ears burned.

Get it together, I scolded myself, slapping my cheeks lightly with both hands. Stop it right now. You are in a boutique. Cyan is right outside. Do not lose your mind over an imaginary scenario.

I cleared my throat, gathered what was left of my dignity, and cracked the heavy velvet curtain open about two inches.

Cyan was sitting on the chaise lounge, his full attention snapping to the opening the second the rings clicked against the metal rod. Étienne stood right behind him, his chin resting in his hand, watching like a hawk.

"I’m not coming out," I announced through the small crack.

"You’re wearing it," Cyan said, a massive grin spreading across his face.

"I didn’t say that."

"Noah, you’ve been in that tiny room for four solid minutes," Cyan pointed out, leaning forward. "If it looked terrible, you would have ripped it off in twenty seconds. You’re wearing it. Show us."

My grip on the curtain slipped, and the fabric swung open a few more inches, revealing the white collar and the tight fit around my chest.

Cyan and Étienne didn’t say a word. They didn’t laugh, and they didn’t make a dramatic comment.

Instead, they just looked at each other. It was a silent, split-second look that lasted barely half a heartbeat, but it communicated a massive, shared thought that neither of them put into words. It was the look of two professionals who had just realized their plan had worked better than expected.