I sat on the edge of the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed and eased my swollen feet out of my heels, the skin red where the leather straps had cut into my ankles.

Julian unpinned his tuxedo bow tie and tossed it on the mahogany dresser.

He unbuttoned his crisp white collar and pulled the shirt down off his shoulder as he undid his undershirt.

Behind his left shoulder, low on the blade, a dark red strawberry birthmark shaped like a small crescent moon stood out against his pale skin, the same hereditary birthmark I had noticed during his robe fitting for the nursery photos.

“You made a scene in the lounge,” he said, taking off his heavy silver cufflinks and dropping them into the porcelain valet tray on his dresser with a sharp clatter.