Chapter 70: Mixing It Together

The racks in Arthur's walk-in closet were filled with crisp suits and button-downs, each one perfectly arranged by color and fabric. Even his shoes were almost entirely black leather, polished to a shine. It hit me again how rarely I'd seen him in anything casual. This man was practically allergic to sweatpants. I grabbed one of his white shirts and quickly slipped it on. Mine was a mess, completely unwearable, and I wasn't about to wander around his house half-naked. The shirt hung off me like a dress, falling just past my thighs. It looked ridiculous, but it was better than nothing. When I came downstairs, Arthur was lounging in the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a book in his hand. Even when he was doing nothing, he had this effortless nobility about him that made you feel underdressed. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps. His brows pulled into a tight frown when he saw what I was wearing. Right. Germaphobe. "I couldn't wear my clothes," I said quickly. "They're.