She blew him a kiss, and Clarke pretended to bat the kiss away. “What the hell is a trousseau?”

“It’s an old-fashioned phrase,” an approaching saleswoman said. “It refers to the articles of clothing that a woman would bring into her new marriage. Including, but not limited to, the unmentionables.”

Clarke would love nothing more than to not mention the bras and thongs that were currently surrounding him. He’d love even more to not think about Audrey wearing any of them.

“So, where do we start?” Audrey asked cheerfully. “Bras? Panties? Teddies?”

Clarke’s pulse raced in panic until he realized she was talking to the saleswoman, not him. Nope, cancel that. His pulse was racing regardless.

He looked around the store frantically. No windows. Why were there no windows?

“Why don’t you two make yourselves at home back in the sitting area? My name’s Michelle, and I’d love to bring out some things that you’ll like. Both of you,” she said with a playful wink toward Clarke.

He knew he was supposed to smile. Knew that he should smile. And though he was pretty sure he managed to show his teeth, the look she gave him was somewhat concerned.

Clarke refused to look at Audrey lest he give himself away, but it was probably too late for that. He was practically sweating.

“We’ve got a fridge in the back with some champagne, white wine, and beer. Can I bring you two anything?”

“Ooh, a glass of white sounds lovely. Is it too early?”

Clarke didn’t care what the hell time it was. “Beer. Please.”

He’d have preferred something stronger at the moment, but he’d take what he could get.

The saleswoman told them to take their time browsing, make note of anything they liked, and then head to the back and get comfortable.

His blood pressure slightly more under control, Clarke glanced over at Audrey only to have his pulse spike all over again. “What are you doing?” he said, putting a palm over her phone to block the lens pointed at him.

“Clarke! This is part of the deal! We have to take pictures of the whole experience.” She gave him a bemused look. “What is with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. You look like you’re about to be violently ill on that table of very expensive panties.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “You know how when we started this, I banned you from using the word vagina?”

“Sure. Rather immature, but I’ve honored it.”

“I’m adding panties to the list.”

She rolled her eyes, unimpressed. “Don’t be that guy. What else would you have me call them? Underwear? Wait, no. Are you an underpants guy? As in, ‘Hey baby, let’s get you out of those underpants.’ ”

Dear God.

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t… refer to them.”