Page 217 of Invisible Bars

Imanio’s brows knitted. “She’s not whimsical.”

“Excuse you, she isverywhimsical,” André shot back, hands on hips. “Look at those twitches—pure whimsy!”

I choked on a laugh, covering my mouth while Imanio’s jaw tightened like he was calculating how many seconds until homicide.

“Can we hurry this up?” he muttered, voice low and impatient.

André clutched his pearls dramatically. “Oh, no, no, no! You can’t rush perfection, darling! Besides, this is only theseconddress! You think Beyoncé found her Grammy gown in under tenminutes?! Please!” He rolled his eyes and leaned close to me, stage-whispering, “Tell me, darling, how did you snag a man who’s fine as wine but looks like he’s been stood up by happiness his whole life? That man can be a whole cologne model but sits there looking like hesmellsdisappointment?”

I cackled. “He’s not that bad. But he’s m-my fine grump,” I said aloud, glancing at Imanio with adoration.

Imanio’s brow ticked; that curious expression played on his face like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or proud.

Third Dress:A sleek white number with a daring slit. The fabric was satin-smooth, its clean finish catching the light so that it shimmered faintly every time I moved, and the back crisscrossed elegantly before dipping low, daring anyone to call it too much.

When I walked out, the room shifted.

André’s hands flew to his chest. “Oh my God!Stop! We’ve reached perfection! This is it! Do not argue with me!”

Imanio’s eyes lingered long, his silence thicker than words. Finally, he nodded in approval. “That one.”

As André leaned in to fix the drape across my shoulder, his hand slid lower than intended, brushing my breast, then he gave it the lightest playful squeeze.

Andre gasped theatrically like he’d just confirmed a designer’s prophecy.

“Perfect size!” he sang out, tilting his head. “Honey, the dress isn’t couture—it’syou. They ought to build mannequins off these proportions. Lord, I’d rent them out by the hour just so men could cry in peace.”

The air snapped. Imanio shot up from the stool so fast it scraped against the marble floor, his glare dark enough to set curtains on fire.

“Watch your damn hands! That’s a married woman!” he growled, face carved tight with fury, every muscle in his body coiled and ready to pounce.

I caught his eyes and gave him a sharp look that screameddon’t you dare, silently begging him not to make a scene. Imanio exhaled through his nose like a dragon being forced back into its cave, chest still rising heavy.

André purred, “Ouuuu! He’s possessive! Love that for you, sis! But relax, Cujo. Is your wife beautiful?Very.My type?Far from it. No offense, honey.”

“None taken,” I said quickly.

“Sorry, guard dog, but I’m not out here competing in the straight-man Olympics. I like my men tall enough to reach the top shelf, fine enough to stop traffic, strong enough to deadlift me, rich enough to pay off my student loans with spare change and texts me ‘wyd’ at 2 a.m. from Mykonos. I don’t even break a sweat for a man who doesn’t wear cologne strong enough to knock out a horse or owns at least three propertiesanda yacht.”

Andre flicked his wrist dramatically.

“That being said, your wife is safe… from me, anyway. That is, unless she can get me an Amex Black.”

By the time we left, dress in Imanio’s hand, I nudged him outside.

“I think you might’ve met y-your match in there,” I kidded.

“He was too close,” Imanio muttered, still simmering.

“That’s his job,” I said, laughing, swatting his arm playfully. “He was helping me. You d-don’t get to kill every man who touches fabric near me.”

He gave me a side-eye. “Watch me.”

I rolled my eyes, grinning. “You are exhausting… and dramatic. Honestly, you and André could be best friends.”

Imanio halted, narrowed his eyes at me. “You funny.”

“Yeah, andwhimsicaltoo,” I teased, sticking my tongue out.