The evening air in the apartment was thick with the scent of expensive fabric, steam from the iron, and the faint, sweet aroma of the jasmine tea Alfred had served earlier.
Alina was hunched over her workbench, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration as she meticulously hand-stitched silk flowers onto the bodice of the custom gown.
The door to the master suite creaked open, and Damian stepped out, looking dangerously refreshed. He had just finished a long shower, his damp, dark hair sticking to his forehead in messy spikes. He wore a simple pair of charcoal lounge pants, his chest bare, radiating a heat that Alina could feel even from a few feet away.
He moved silently across the room, appearing beside her like a shadow. He leaned down, his chin resting on her shoulder as he watched her steady hands.
"Better?" she asked softly, her eyes never leaving the intricate work. She was referring to the tension that had gripped him earlier after his grandmother's visit.
