Whitney glanced at the door when she heard the crystal bell chime. She was midway through slipping into the crimson corset gown in the private fitting alcove, the staff fussing over the laces at her back, when she turned to see Cypher entering the boutique.
He paused just inside the threshold, his tall frame cutting a striking silhouette against the opulent backdrop: dark hair tousled from the walk, casual academy jacket slung over one shoulder, looking somewhat out of place amid the velvet drapes and gilded mirrors. But there was no denying his presence—it drew eyes from a couple of other patrons browsing nearby. 'And here I was beginning to think that he wouldn't show up,' she thought, a rush of triumph warming her cheeks as she smoothed the gown's fabric.
