The bath had left her hair dark and heavy at her shoulders and the scent of herbs clinging to her skin. Levan moved around her with that careful ease of a man who knew exactly how to hold both towel and silence, helping her step into the pale pink dress as if folding a bloom into his palm.
Once the fabric settled against her, she swirled around to face him. And he smiled without meaning to, the kind that lingered as though he was memorizing the angle of her jaw and the way the pink dress she chose softened the light around her.
He clamped his hands firmly on her shoulders, steadying her before she could spiral anywhere else.
"Sit," he said. Once she did, he took the towel and draped it over her head, drying her hair.
