Page 24

She brushes her mass of coppery, curly hair back from her face, sniffling loud enough to wake the dead.
Yeah, I think the ugly tears are behind her now.
“S-sorry about that.” She hiccups and threads her fingers through her hair. It looks silky, even tangled up, and for a second I wonder what it would feel like in my hands.
Then I wrench my thoughts back to the present.
We’ve established she’s pure chaos.
There’s no predicting what she’ll do next.
If I was all cold logic, I’d take her to a psych place and get her some help right now.
Still, I can’t help feeling bad for her. I also hate that I wonder if she’s truly crazy.
There’s a big black trash bag near the front door. I’m almost positive it contains her wedding dress. Who just tosses a dress like that?
And the ice-cold message my assistant passed on to me from her father definitely confirms something’s up, even if she doesn’t want to tell me the details. Fine, I won’t press her, but I need a hint, goddammit.
Her father could be worried, knowing she’s prone to a mental crisis.
On the other hand, what if he’s the one causing her grief?
A controlling, crazy tyrant dad who wants her back so he can lock her up and keep abusing her.
I know what a fucked up place this world can be.
Still, I needsomething.
Reassurance this won’t blow up in my face if I help her with an extended stay against my better judgment. It shocks me that I want to help her.
Probably because she’s so broken, so desperate, so unpredictable.
People with stable minds don’t break down and swing at strangers over fucking bees.
Then again, it wasn’t really about the bees, was it?
It’s whatever’s haunting her—whatever trauma chased her here.
No matter what I do, I’m not throwing her back to the wolves and having that on my conscience.
So I nudge the tissue box closer, just in case she needs more, and rest my forearm on the breakfast bar.
“I meant to thank you for putting up with my son and his friends. You handled the shit they pulled with pure class. Also, I’m sure he’ll be grateful you’ve given him the only sugar he’s getting for the next month in non-fruit form.”
“Grounded, then?” She smiles.
“You bet. Their dumbass stunt could’ve gotten him put under house arrest for real, not just cooped up without horror movies or games.”
She gives me a lopsided smile.
“Yeah, I told them. I think I channeled my inner mom to be honest. I’ve never been the lecturing type before, but it just came out. I felt a little crappy about it. That’s why I gave them the cake.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad.”
“I called Briana ‘princess’ and told her to sit the hell down.” Her eyes turn glassy at the memory. I notice they’re a sea-glass green, shiny and bright with just enough woe glittering to draw a man to his doom.
The redness around her eyes really brings out their color, I’m sorry to say.