Avery wraps the towel around her body and lets her long, dark hair hang down her back. Two uniformed servants walk behind her, staring boldly at her flawless skin and slim figure.

"I'd like some privacy now," Avery says. "I don't like having people follow me."

One of the servants nods and opens the door to the newly remodeled dressing room. She imagines it used to be Andrew's, but the room is feminine now. The walls are covered in light wallpaper with a subtle floral pattern, and a soft shag carpet softens the hard marble floor.

One wall is devoted entirely to shoes—hundreds of pairs of heels, sandals, flats, and boots hang from racks on the wall. Another wall has rows and rows of designer dresses. The third wall has skirts, pants, and tops. Scarves, hats, belts, and other accessories dangle from the fourth wall. Almost everything still has a price tag attached.

Avery looks through the dresses, trailing her fingertip over the luxurious fabrics. The servants told her that Andrew chose all of the clothing himself. She checks the sizes on the tags and sees that everything is exactly her size. Who knew that Andrew was such a good judge of the female figure? She thinks disgustedly. Then she remembers the way he accurately guessed her bra size in the lingerie store, and she shudders with disgust.

She chooses a long black dress with lace details on the bodice. The skirt of the dress brushes her ankles, but the top is sleeveless. She finds a Spanish style lace shawl and wraps it around her arms to hide the turquoise tattoo. The dreck has a high neckline, so she chooses a bold, statement necklace. Dozens of white diamonds glitter around a large oval diamond in the middle. She pairs the dress with a pair of red shoes and studies the outfit in front of a mirror.

She smiles with satisfaction and walks to the makeup table in the center of the room. The table is surrounded by four fine-grained mirrors, and a crystal lamp flickers brightly in front of them. Avery sits at the chair and sees her face reflected endlessly between the mirrors. She opens the drawers and finds rows of designer lipsticks, the trendiest eyeshadow pallets, and piles of eyeliner, blush, and mascara. Everything matches her skin color perfectly.

She sneers at her reflection and piles her hair into an elegant bun. She applies some mascara and swipes red lipstick across her lips and then walks down the stairs to the entryway. On her way, servants pause and stare open-mouthed. She scowls and keeps walking, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders.

The moment he sees her, Andrew jumps to his feet. He's wearing a white shirt with a simple blue suit, and Avery has to admit he looks handsome. His eyes sparkle, and he smiles crookedly at her. He walks across the room and stands by her side.

"We look incredible together," he says, bending down to kiss her cheek. "Like the perfect couple."

Avery turns her head to dodge his kiss, but he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her toward him. She struggles, but he's too strong for her. She sighs and glares at him as he looks her up and down. His eyes linger on the swell of her breasts and the feminine curve of her waist.

"Felicity Winter, you look beautiful," he murmurs. "I'm so glad you're all mine."

"Well, I'm filled with regret," she replies. "I never wanted to be yours."

He tightens his grip and pushes her up against the wall. He glances at her red lips, and his eyes filled with desire. His breathing quickens and gently lifts her chin with his finger. Avery tries to turn her head, but he pinches her chin between his fingers and presses his body against hers.

She can feel the strength of his desire pressing against her thigh. I wish I hadn't dressed so nicely, she thinks. I should have worn sweatpants or something ugly. But there wasn't a single unflattering thing in that entire dressing room. Every single outfit was selected to show off at least one part of my body—this dress was the most conservative thing I could find.

"Felicity, you drive me wild," Andrew whispers.

Avery squares her shoulder and snaps, "Andrew, show me some respect!"

"I do respect you," Andrew whispers, trailing soft kisses from her earlobe to her collarbone. "I haven't touched you once since you came here—not your lips, or your legs, not even a single finger—and it's torturing me, Felicity. I can't stand it any longer. I need you, and I need you now."

"There are servants everywhere," Avery hisses. "We're not chimps in a zoo."

"I can ask them to leave if you want," Andrew says.

"We have to leave," Avery says. "We'll be late, and Jackson will take that personally. I hate to be rude, don't you?"

"We have time for a quickie," Andrew says, sliding his hands down her body. He winks at her, and the mole in the corner of his eye seems to twitch, "Unless you like it so much you want a second round."

Avery pushes his hand away and says, "I'd get sweaty and have to redo all my makeup. We don't have time."

"Fine," Andrew says with a smirk. "Tell me when we'll get married, and I'll let you go for now. If you're worried about horoscopes and all that, I can ask professionals to tell us which day will be luckiest."

"Okay, that sounds good," Avery says, grateful for the opportunity to escape.

Andrew laughs and pulls her close to him, "Prove that you mean it."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"You say you want to marry me, but you seem disgusted by your duties as a wife," Andrew says. "I need you to do something to prove that you want me. I'm a man, Felicity, and I have needs."

"Andrew, you're pushing your luck," Avery snaps. "Besides, I'm pregnant. Doesn't that bother you? It's not even your baby."

"Not at all," Andrew says, nipping her ear. "And if it doesn't bother me, why should it bother you?"

"No, you can't touch me," Avery says, desperately struggling to get out of his arms.

"Did you honestly think I'd never touch you?" Andrew asks. "Did you honestly think I'd keep you in my home and let you torment me for the rest of my miserably short life? No, I have to have you."

Before she can answer, he kisses her neck. His warm lips slide along her skin, and she trembles. He groans quietly, and she feels his erection grow. Her stomach turns, and bile fills her throat. He grabs her hand and places her palm over the hot bulge in his pants. She raises her leg and slams her knee into his balls.

Andrew gasps and lets go of her. His eyes water, and he doubles over with pain. Before he can recover, Avery runs toward the front door. She pauses in the doorway and laughs—he's clutching his genitals and rolling on the floor. Slowly, he stands up, wincing in pain with every motion.

"Felicity Winter, you almost ruined your sex life," he says, his voice low and furious.

"If you dare touch me again, it won't be almost," Avery snaps. "I'll eradicate it. Understand?"