He opens the double doors that lead to my closet and reaches around the corner to flip on the light. It’s filled with clothes and shoes. Handbags. I’ve never carried a handbag. Boots. Not the kind you wear on a boat. The tall kind. The short kind. The fancy kind. There are so many cabinets and drawers, I have no idea what to think.

“Six,” I say.

“What?” Vincent laughs.

“Six outfits. I’ve never owned more than six outfits in my life.”

“Oh, yes. I guess there’s not a lot of room for so many things on a boat.”

“Why do I need so many clothes? I’m not trying to be difficult, I just don’t understand it.”

His hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me into his chest. “Miss Tate, your life is about to change. One day—not today, or tomorrow, or even next week when we have our first party as a power couple—but one day you will have so many people to see, and so many things to do, that you will look at this closet and realize it’s not enough. You have dresses for balls. For fundraisers. For stepping out on the town with your husband for drinks. You have shorts and bathing suits for the pool or the beach, or traveling to see your father on his yacht. You’ll have coats and boots for braving the weather when you have to visit New York or Chicago because some aspect of the many, many boards of directors you will participate in require your personal attention.

“Your life will be filled with interesting people, and special dinners, and parties. You will see injustices in this world and want to rage against them. You will command people to help you do that, and you will change the future. You will shape the future, Harper. You will talk and people will listen. You will admonish bad behavior and practices will change. You will be a force, Miss Tate. You will be a force and all those acts require clothes.”

I try to picture myself as this person he describes but I can’t. I try to picture myself in the future and find that I can’t do that either. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about my future.

“Clothes make you feel things, Harper. And right now I need you to choose a dress for me. Something that will make you feel something tonight. I don’t want you drugged, or silent, or stupid. I want you to be you. So I filled your closet with every outfit I could get my hands on to give you a way to find yourself. So choose, Miss Tate. Who do you want to be tonight?”

I can’t stop looking at his face the whole time he’s talking. I swear to God, I can’t stop. And it’s not because he looks like James anymore. It’s not his green eyes and dark hair or the perfect body I know he’s hiding under that suit.

It’s because he paints a picture I’ve never considered before. Up until this very moment, my future was all about seeing Nick again. Or lying next to James in some small apartment as we fled from one danger after another. Or maybe, if I was really dreaming big, a home. Like the one Merc had in the desert. A place with comfortable couches and air-conditioning to take the edge off the heat. With soft sheets and picture frames filled with moments we wanted to cherish together.

Simple.

My life has always been simple.

And I’m not saying one is better than the other. I’m not really saying anything with my hesitation. I’m just… considering my options.

“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I really have no idea who I am, let alone who I want to be.”

Vincent’s face changes in my moment of realization. “I see. Would you like to hear my opinion on what’s in your closet?”

I nod. Because I could really use some guidance right now and he’s all I have at them moment.

“This,” he says with a smile as his fingertips gather a piece of light green fabric, “is a beautiful dress. My favorite, in fact.” He lifts the hanger off the rack so I can see the dress displayed.

It’s very pretty. Not sexy. But sophisticated. The pale green reminds me of a honeydew melon. And it’s more of a gown than a dress. A soft chiffon gown with a shirred empire bodice, and skirts that flow all the way to the floor, like a column.

“It’s pretty.”

“Yes,” Vincent says. “But maybe tonight you just want to be comfortable?” He pulls out a t-shirt with some writing on it. Grunge-style. Little rips in the sleeve to make it looked well-loved and well-worn. And then he opens a drawer in one of the many cabinets and finds a pair of denim shorts. “This is what you usually wear, right?”

I smile a huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m not very fancy.”

“So wear this to our first dinner.”

I look up at him and smile. “What are you going to wear?”

“I look pretty good like this,” he says, gesturing to his suit. “I like to be fancy. But if you choose comfortable, I’ll change.”

I sigh and turn back to the green dress. He’s good, I realize. He’s very, very good at this. Here I am wondering what he wants me to wear to dinner with him, when ten minutes ago I was angry about being forced to come stay at his house.

I don’t know what to make of it.

“Harper,” he says softly behind me. “It’s not a big decision. Just match the clothes to your mood and purpose.”

“What if I don’t know what I feel? Or what I want?”

“Well, that’s understandable. It takes time. I’m sorry I was harsh with you earlier. I’ve set things up wrong. I’ve set you up to be combative, and I apologize. I don’t want to fight. I just want to get to know you. So decide how you want to feel tonight, right now. And then let the rest go. Just enjoy it for what it is. A dinner. With me.”