Morning came far too early, but at least we’d get to spend a good part of the day outside. It might not help me figure out House James’s plan, but it would give me time to get my head on straight. And often, socializing was just as useful as snooping, so today might not be a loss anyway.
I dragged myself from bed and got ready while Alex was in the shower. Today I would wear my riding habit: tight breeches, tall boots, a high-collared shirt, and a jacket with tails that had flexible armor reinforcements on the back and arms.
As a play on the subdued traditional colors, I’d chosen bright gold breeches, a vibrant purple shirt, and an emerald green jacket. My tailor had done her job and the colors had enough undertones in common that it worked. I looked perfectly put together. I’d argued for dyed boots, too, but she’d talked me down to black. When I checked myself in the mirror, I conceded that she might have had a point.
Alex emerged from the bathroom in an all-black riding habit. His was more functional and less showy than mine, but it fit him perfectly. With his size, it had to have been tailored. Bianca must’ve known my plans for weeks because even with a rush order, a complete custom outfit would take a day or two to make—not to mention all the rest of his clothes.
His gaze flickered over me and seemed to snag on my breeches. I had nice legs—strong and muscled—and he seemed fascinated by the taut gold cloth covering them. I was so, so tempted to turn around and pretend to pick something up off the floor because I knew that these particular breeches did incredible things for my ass, but I restrained myself with a silent admonishment to behave.
In fact, I still needed to apologize for my behavior the night before. That doused my desire to play.
“Now I see why we must wear these ridiculous clothes,” Alex murmured.
“Just be glad you get to wear all black and still be considered dashing. Clothes are both weapons and armor, and Consortium women have elevated them to an art form.” I waved a hand at my own outfit as an example. “What do you see?”
He paused to consider, his eyes sweeping me from head to toes and back. “Color. It fits you well. It would be hard to fight in.”
“Yes, yes, no. This fabric is made for movement. It’s no harder to fight in than anything else I own, and far easier than many things. Would you like to know what my fellow Consortium ladies would see?”
“Yes.”
“They would see the color, but they would see how skillfully the seemingly disparate colors are woven together to create a cohesive whole. That takes a good eye or a talented tailor or both. They would know how expensive this fabric is—and it is, hideously so. They would know that it was hand stitched and custom made, just for me. The colors imply that I’m immature and spoiled, but rich enough that it doesn’t matter. And finally, the design does not follow any of the current trends, which means I’m powerful enough to forge my own path.”
“All of that from a bit of cloth?”
I laughed. “All of that and more. It’s why Bianca made you get a new wardrobe, and presumably oversaw all of the details. She doesn’t like playing the game, but she’s very, very good at it.”
“What do my clothes say, then?”
It was my turn to assess him. The material was very fine. Perhaps not as dear as mine, but in the same neighborhood. The unrelenting black was a good foil for his light brown skin. It also emphasized his size, and the excellent tailoring showcased his physique. The jacket had a split hem, made for movement, and almost military styling. His tall, black boots had thick soles. The outfit was simple enough that it would work in both formal and informal events and no one would bat an eye if he wore it on the street.
“You’re rich, with good taste, but a little boring and you generally play it safe. You have a military background. You either didn’t want to draw attention to yourself or you purposefully chose this outfit because the simplicity would be its own attraction, but I’d have to see you in action to figure out which.”
His eyebrows swept upward.
“On a more personal note, the jacket design was your idea, not Bianca’s. You talked Bianca down from whatever she had designed to this simpler version because you would’ve felt awkward in a more stylish option. You fought to wear ‘normal pants’ instead of breeches. She wouldn’t budge, but she did allow the cut of the breeches to be a little looser than usual. You like to blend into the background, which you thought you were doing, but you didn’t realize aloofness makes you more desirable to a good chunk of the Consortium population.”
Surprise and suspicion chased each other across his face. “You guessed all of that from my clothes?”
“Yes. Was I right?” He didn’t answer, which was answer enough. “What did Bianca want you to wear?”
“Some kind of fussy jacket. In salmon.”
I hummed in thought. Bianca had a good eye. Salmon would be a superb color for him, but perhaps not for hover bike racing. “Let’s head downstairs. Breakfast should be informal this morning, then we’ll get to have some fun.”
He gestured for me to go ahead. “Lead the way.”
I gathered my courage. “Before we go, I need to apologize for last night. My behavior was unacceptable, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“What do you mean?” Alex asked with a frown.
He was going to make me spell it out. My face heated, but it was no less than I deserved. “In the hallway. I should not have touched you without permission.” I cleared my throat nervously. “You’ve made your feelings clear, and I overstepped. I’m sorry.”
“If you’ll recall, I touched you first.”
“Yes, but you did it to protect me. I did not.”
Alex prowled closer. “What feelings did I make clear?”
I tried to retreat behind my public mask, but Alex shook his head. “No, no masks. Tell me.”
My prayers for the floor to open up and swallow me whole went unanswered. My face had to be bright red, but Alex was relentless, waiting patiently for me to answer. I could feel his gaze.
Was it possible to die of embarrassment? Apparently not, because I was still alive.
I sighed and quickly confessed, “I am aware that you are not attracted to me. I should’ve respected that last night and kept my hands to myself.”
He chuckled softly. “Oh, Cat, you could not be more wrong.” With that bombshell, he turned and exited the room.