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The first stop catches me by surprise. I’m back in front of Dr. Thomas’ office after being told I’d need prism glasses for my newly diagnosed binocular vision dysfunction (BVD). But that was only two days ago; there’s no way the glasses are ready this soon.

Except, theyareready, and Adonis gets us in and out in less than twenty minutes.

With my new frames perched on my nose, I turn to him as he pulls onto the freeway, farther away from his house.

“How did you do that?”

“What?”

“Get these glasses so fast.” Dr. Thomas had told me they could take up to two weeks to be ready. Yet here we are two days later.

“You needed them,” he says absentmindedly, veering left until we’re in the carpool lane.

His distant tone ensnares me more than the three words he uttered.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting after my little stunt back at the house, but it wasn’t playing passenger princess while Adonis weaved in and out of morning rush hour traffic not bringing it up.

Feeling every bit of the childish he accused me of being in his bathroom, I sit back and adjust the glasses on my face.

“How much were these?” I want to know.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t like owing people money,” I tell him, pulling a small notepad out of my purse. I pluck a random black pen from his center console and write. According to my research the other night, these glasses cost anywhere from eight hundred to fifteen-hundred dollars. So, even though it makes my teeth itch, I jot down the highest number to be on the safe side. After scribbling a description beside the number, I fidget with the pen and zone out until I notice the car is mysteriously still.

Blinking to clear my cloudy thoughts, I observe the quaint, white brick building in front of us.

There are no signs to indicate what it is, so I turn searching orbs to Adonis.

“Where are we?”

“The Society is having a charity gala next weekend,” he says as a frown threatens to take over his face. “You need a dress.”

The Society and “charity gala” being in the same sentence should be illegal, and I almost roll my eyes until…

“Why do I need a dress?”

“Because you’re my date.”

A silver trayof mimosas teases me when I step out of the fitting room with a growling stomach.

Then my steps stutter because I’m still getting used to these glasses on my face, but more than anything, I have a feeling I’m seeing double because of the lack of food in my system.

Adonis shoved me in the passenger seat of his car before I could think about breakfast.

Now, he sits facing me in a chair that looks like a throne with him in it.

Arms draped.

Legs spread.

Head cocked.

Lips tilted.

His silence is louder than the roar of blood in my ears.

Annoying.