Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 177

Sophie’s POV

When Adrian told me he'd arranged a surprise trip to an exclusive bridal salon, I should have been excited. Instead, I felt a knot of dread tighten in my stomach.

"I know you already looked at dresses with Mom, but I wanted to give you another option."

He said when I hesitated.

"This place is supposed to be incredible—they have designers you can't find anywhere else. And I wanted you to have your friends there too this time. No pressure to choose anything, just... explore your options."

“You know that seeing a bride in a wedding dress is a bad omen, right?”

"That's why I'm not going with you. Cleo and Emma are already there," Adrian answered, clearly pleased with himself. "I wanted you to have your closest people with you for this. Bellamy will drive you and stay as security."

Of course Bellamy would be there. Because apparently the universe had decided that my punishment for one kiss was to have him present at every significant moment of my engagement.

We hadn't spoken since the fight three days ago. Not really spoken, anyway—just clipped, professional exchanges.

Twenty minutes later, Bellamy's car pulled up outside. I took a breath and headed down, finding him waiting by the passenger door with his usual professional stance.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

"Yes."

"Great, I'll be in the lot." His eyes didn't quite meet mine as he opened the door for me.

That was it. The easy warmth that had been building between us had frozen solid, replaced by a wall of ice.

The drive to the salon was suffocating. I sat in the passenger seat staring out the window while Bellamy focused on the road with rigid intensity.

He followed at his standard protective distance—close enough to intervene if needed, far enough to maintain professional boundaries. As if professional boundaries still meant anything after everything we'd said to each other.

Cleo and Emma were waiting inside, both of them lighting up when they saw me. Cleo immediately pulled me into a hug while Emma beamed from her chair, a glass of champagne already in hand.

"This is going to be so fun!" Cleo squealed. "Adrian said he wanted you to have the full experience—drinks, snacks, the works."

I forced a smile that felt like it might crack my face. "He's very thoughtful."

Bellamy took up position near the entrance, his posture military-straight, his expression carefully neutral. But I could feel his presence like static electricity—constant, unavoidable, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

The consultant, a woman named Vivienne with impeccable taste and even more impeccable makeup, brought out dress after dress. Each one was beautiful in its own way. Each one felt completely wrong.

"Try this one," Cleo urged, holding up a fitted mermaid-style gown with intricate beading. "It's sexy and sophisticated. Very you."

I dutifully went into the dressing room and let Vivienne help me into it. When I stepped out onto the platform, Cleo gasped with delight.

"Oh my God, Sophie! You look incredible! That silhouette is perfect on you."

Emma tilted her head thoughtfully. "It's beautiful, but I don't know if it's quite right. Maybe something a little more classic?"

I looked at myself in the three-way mirror. The dress was stunning. It hugged every curve, made me look like someone who belonged on a magazine cover. But the woman staring back at me felt like a stranger.

I tried on five more dresses. Cleo and Emma had opinions about each one, debating necklines and trains and whether or not to wear a veil.

Through it all, I went through the motions. Smiled when I was supposed to smile. Turned when Vivienne asked me to turn. Pretended this was the magical experience every bride was supposed to have.

And through it all, I felt Bellamy's presence at the edge of my awareness. I didn't look at him. Refused to look at him. But I knew he was there, watching, and that knowledge made everything feel off-balance.

Then Vivienne brought out a dress that was different from all the others.

It was simple in a way that felt almost radical compared to the ornate gowns I'd been trying on.

Off-shoulder sleeves that draped elegantly down my arms. A flowing skirt that moved like water but still maintained structure. Clean lines that didn't need embellishment because the cut itself was perfection.

The moment Vivienne fastened the last button and I looked at myself, something shifted.

I stepped onto the platform in front of the three-way mirror, and Vivienne adjusted the train, spreading it out behind me in a perfect fan. I stared at my reflection.

This was it. This was the dress.

For the first time all afternoon, I actually saw myself as a bride. Not playing dress-up. Not going through motions. Actually standing there in a wedding dress that felt like it belonged on my body.

"Sophie," Cleo breathed. "That's the one."

I turned slightly, watching the skirt move with me, catching the light. And that's when I caught his reflection in the mirror.

Bellamy was staring at me. This was something entirely different. He was staring like I was a work of art, like I was something precious and unattainable and heartbreakingly beautiful.

For just a moment, his professional mask slipped completely. I saw everything written on his face—raw longing, devastating pain, the look of a man imagining this woman was his bride instead of another man's.

The look of a man watching someone he loved prepare to marry someone else.

Then I saw the realization cross his features. The brutal acceptance that settled over his expression like a shroud.

She's not yours. She's never going to be yours.

Our eyes met in the mirror. Held.

The moment stretched, electric and devastating and so charged with everything we couldn't say that I forgot how to breathe.

I saw myself reflected in his gaze—not as Adrian's fiancée, not as the scandal girl, but as something infinitely more complicated. As someone he wanted with an intensity that made my chest ache.

And suddenly I was seeing myself through his eyes. Seeing this dress, this moment, this entire day through the lens of his longing.

The dress felt wrong now. All wrong.

"Sophie?" Cleo's voice cut through the moment.

I tore my gaze away from Bellamy to find her watching me with concern, her eyes darting between the two of us. She'd seen something. I didn't know how much, but enough to make her expression shift from excitement to worry.

Emma cleared her throat deliberately. "It's a beautiful dress, Sophie. Absolutely stunning on you."

I turned back to the mirror, but Bellamy had already looked away. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping. His hands were fisted at his sides. And his expression had gone completely blank—that professional mask firmly back in place.

But I couldn't unsee what I'd just seen. Couldn't unknow what his face had revealed in that unguarded moment.

"I need to think about it," I heard myself say. My voice sounded distant, disconnected. "Can I think about it?"

Vivienne looked confused—she'd clearly expected this to be the moment I said yes, pulled out Adrian's credit card, sealed the deal. "Of course. We can hold it for forty-eight hours."

"That's fine. Thank you." I was already stepping down from the platform, already moving toward the dressing room. "I just need a minute."

I changed back into my regular clothes as quickly as I could, my hands shaking so badly I could barely manage the buttons. When I emerged, Cleo and Emma were waiting with forced bright smiles.

"That last one really was gorgeous," Emma said gently. "But I understand wanting to sleep on such a big decision."

The drive home was torture. Cleo sat in the back seat, trying to fill the silence with cheerful chatter about potential venues and whether we should do a sit-down dinner or cocktail-style reception. Emma occasionally added supportive comments.

And I stared out the window, completely unable to participate, because all I could see was Bellamy's face in that mirror.

The longing. The pain. The look of a man watching the woman he loved prepare to marry someone else.

I twisted my engagement ring around and around my finger until the skin underneath turned red.