Page 45

Tess
I feel ridiculous.
Like a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes. I went back and forth over whether or not I should even put it on several times before I finally relented.
It was the underwear that did me in.
I’ve developed a thing for lace.
I blame Henley and her La Perla addiction.
Most of my bras and underwear are serviceable cotton but I’ve splurged on a few silk and lace sets that I wear when I need an ego boost.
The black lace bustier and matching thong panties are beautiful and when I try them on, they fit perfectly. Since I’m already half-way there, I put on the dress and the shoes before looking at myself in the mirror.
You look beautiful, Tesla.
My mother’s voice sounds off in my head, so close, so real, I half expect to feel her hands on my shoulders. See her beautiful smile hovering next to mine. When I don’t, I turn away from the mirror.
“Fuck it.” I snatch the beaded, red satin clutch that was tucked into the shoe box, and head out the door.
By the timeI get to the center, it’s after visiting hours. When she hears my heels clicking across the linoleum, the night nurse picks up her head. It’s Kaitlyn, the woman Con was pretending to see after Henley left. She smiles when she sees me, which never ceases to amaze me. Despite the fact that Con pretty much dumped her, she’s never been anything but nice. Even to Henley. Either she’s the most understanding person alive or she wasn’t as into Conner as I thought.
“Whoa.” Kaitlyn stands and gives me an appreciative nod. “You look—”
“Ridiculous?” I say, finishing the sentence and earning myself a laugh.
“Ridiculously hot,” she says, amending my statement. “Seriously—Mr. O’Connell is going to have a heart attack when he sees you.” She calls Ryan, Mr. O’Connell. Keeps her distance, like the rest of the female nurses. He scares them. I’m not sure if it’s the still-healing burn scars or the fact that he’s assaulted every male orderly and nurse in the place, but Kaitlyn rolls with the majority when it comes to Ryan.
It’s the only thing I don’t like about her.
“Let’s hope not,” I say, giving her a flat smile. “I need him for emotional support.” Moving away from the station, I give her a little wave on my way to Ryan room. When I get there, the door is cracked. I raise my hand to give it a knock but before I can, it’s yanked open and Ryan is standing in front of me in his dress blues.
“You’re late,” he says, his face set in its perpetual scowl.
“Thank you, Ryan,” I say, giving him a little twirl. “I feel pretty,” I say, even though I don’t. “And you look… less homeless than usual.” My words send an ugly red flush crawling up his neck. The truth is he looks good. Damn good. He got his haircut. His beard is trimmed. His dress blues are carefully pressed. Shoes shined. Service medals gleaming. I half expected him to be wearing flannel pants and a stained T-shirt when I showed up.
“Let’s just go.” He pushes past me and heads down the hall, leaving me to shut his door and follow after him.
He doesn’t say anything else until we’re in the car and on our way. “You do.”
I give him a quick glance before refocusing on the road. “I do what?”
“Look pretty.” He says it to the window, his hands fisted in his lap. “More than pretty, actually.”
I smile in spite of myself. “And you look a little better than less homeless—I guess.”
He turns in his seat and gives me a smile. A real smile. The kind he used to give me when we were kids—when we weren’t fighting that is. “Ladies love the dress blues.”
I laugh out loud and he looks at me for a stunned second before joining in. Finally he’s quiet again but the silence between is less tense. It’s like that with Ryan sometimes. It’s like he needs to be reminded of who he is. Who we are to him. That we’re his family. Most of the time it doesn’t work. Most of the time he stays angry. Doesn’t care.
“Con tell you he’s asking my sister to marry him?”
“He did.” I knew Conner told Ryan but I haven’t seen Con to ask him how Ryan took the news, so I don’t say anything else.
“I’m happy for them.” He doesn’t sound happy. He sounds resigned. “I suppose Cap’n will ask his artist to marry him before long too. Dec’s marrying Jess.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it. Doesn’t see the way it cuts me.
I pull into the parking lot of the gallery. Ryan was right, we are late. Valet is full. Pulling into a spot reserved for buyers only, I kill the engine and turn toward him. “Do you want to get married?” I ask, trying to figure out where this is coming from.