Estelle blinked, following his eyes down to the hospital gown still tied loosely at the back. Suddenly, she felt it… how exposed it left her, how it whispered vulnerability she wasn't ready to show. A breath slipped from her lips. "I guess not."
"I think you need a dress," Roman said, matter-of-factly, but there was something softer beneath it now. Consideration? Maybe care.
Estelle nodded. "I do, but—" She didn't even get the rest out. Roman was already on his feet, the scrape of the chair sharp against the tiled floor as he moved toward the door with urgency.
Her brows pulled together. "Where are you in such a hurry to?"
He paused just long enough to glance back at her, his hand resting on the handle. "To get you a dress befitting Mrs. Whitehall." His gaze dipped briefly, then returned to her eyes, deeper now. "And my wife."
