Page 8

Mindy

Why did I invite Dahlia to go thrifting? I’m dead tired and this is cutting into the small amount of sleep that I might get, but it might distract me from obsessing about the weird meal I had last night with Maddox.

Not to mention it’s just that she’s carrying a twenty-thousand-dollar purse, walking through a second-hand store with me. If that isn’t bad enough, her husband came with her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. Shopping is my favorite activity.” She flips through the racks with a smile on her face.

Normally thrifting is one of mine too, but not with her husband glaring at the entire store like he’s ready to kill everyone for even looking at his wife. Vex…Maverick Steele—who would have thought his real name would sound more like a superhero than a villain—probably would do just that.

“Can he stop doing that?”

Dahlia doesn’t even turn to see what I’m talking about. “No. I’m pretty sure that’s impossible. The only time he doesn’t have that look on his face is when we’re alone together.”

What would it be like to have a man that fiercely protective watching out for me? My whole life I’ve been on my own, even as a child.

It doesn’t compute.

“What about this?” Dahlia lifts up a button-up knit sweater. “I’m trying to get away from oversized clothing.”

“Good. You have a figure that women dream of having. Show it off.” A sparkly body con dress practically pops out as I pretend to look through the rack next to me. “You should get this.”

“That?” Her eyes bug out. “It’s… um… a little loud.”

And? “You said you wanted to try something new.” I check the size. It might be a little tight around her chest, but Dahlia looks to be about a medium. “It should fit.”

“Where am I even going to wear a dress like that?” She steps back like the dress is about to attack her.

“At your husband’s club. On Friday night.” That seems kind of obvious.

Dahlia’s smile evaporates, replaced by abject terror, which makes no sense.

Why would she be afraid of her husband’s club?

“What’s wrong?” Maverick steps between Dahlia and me, completely ignoring my existence. His whole world is her.

That’s what I’d like to know.

“Dahlia, talk to me. I don’t see any threats.”

That’s because the place mostly cleared out when we showed up. Even the staff are keeping their distance.

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Everything is fine.”

“Dahlia.”

I don’t believe her either.

Instead of backing away from the now angry beast, she places a bejeweled hand on his arm. “Everything is fine.” Dahlia forces a pathetic excuse of a smile on her face. “Mindy just found a beautiful dress for me to wear to the club on Friday.”

Maverick turns to glare at me.

Can he literally kill with a single look? I should be terrified. But a quick death doesn’t scare me.

“I should just burn the place down.”

Burn down one of the hottest clubs in Urbium? Is Maverick crazy? That club has to be making him millions every year.

“No. I want to go.” Dahlia’s voice is low enough that I lean forward to hear her.

“You don’t have to go.” Maverick sounds like it hurts to speak.

“This will be a good thing.”

I’m with him not believing it will be, even though I don’t know how clubbing could ever be bad, especially when your husband owns it.

“Fine, Dahl, but we’re having s’mores tonight,” he growls the words softly like they’re a threat.

A brilliant smile transforms her face. There’s something more to that smile than joy. It’s all-encompassing… a million emotions all at once. Is that—It can’t be. Yet it is. I’ve seen dozens of poor facsimiles of that look in movies and hundreds on my mother’s face when she’s pretending to love her newest husband. There’s no pretense. No forced emotion. The look on Dahlia’s face is love. Pure, genuine love. It’s almost impossible to believe what my eyes are seeing.

Dahlia steps forward and reaches up, threading her fingers through Maverick’s hair. She pulls his head down and kisses him.

The intensity of their shared bliss hits me hard. I should step away. Or at least turn away.

My body is stuck as my mind tries to process what’s obviously in front of me. Love doesn’t exist. It’s merely a fairytale created by poets and dreamers. With a single kiss, Dahlia and Maverick have thrown my world off its axis and changed reality.

If something as beautiful as this is possible—

Don’t even think about it. Peters women don’t find love.

Maverick breaks the kiss, leaving a hand gently cupping Dahlia’s cheek.

That tender look would leave me sighing if I wasn’t afraid he’d kill me for interrupting them.

“We’re still having s’mores.” He walks away with a self-satisfied grin and only a slight glare in my direction.

Don’t ask.

It’s none of your business.

Don’t ask. “What was all of that about?”

Dahlia pauses for a second, staring out into space. “I got roofied in his club.”

What? “How is that possible? We were with you when you left.” I watched you get into the cab safe and sound after his limo dropped us off.

“It wasn’t then. I was foolish and went back alone.”

“Are you stupid?” That was rude.

Her laughter rings out, turning Maverick’s frown into a small smile. “Yes. But I think I was already falling for him, and all I could think about was seeing him.”

There are too many women who do foolish things for a man in the name of love and pay the price for it.

Mother was always crashing hard, needing me to pick her up even when I was a child.

“Nothing happened because Maverick saved me. But it could have ended up very differently.”

Like duh. Every woman dreads just what could happen. “We need to teach you how to stay safe around here.”

She looks over at the man who’s back to glaring at everyone around us. “Um, I’m not sure that’s necessary anymore.”

An awkward giggle sneaks out of me. “Probably not.”

“Though I don’t want to be afraid of the club. We absolutely need to go this Friday. Only, I want to be dressed better than I was the last time.”

Huh? “You always look amazing.” She’s literally a walking magazine ad from about fifty years ago with her pencil skirts, kitten heels, and cardigans. Timeless elegance describes her style perfectly.

“Boring. My clothes are boring. I want to feel free and fun like you.”

Me? She wants to look like me. My clothes are eclectic at best. The mishmash of styles I find at thrift stores rarely go together, and they never even approach timeless elegance. It’s all about not caring what people think of you. Or at least pretending to.

If they’re looking at the brave combinations, they aren’t thinking about the fact that you don’t have designer labels. “How fun do you want to go?”

“Moderately fun.” She grins.

“We can do that.” If I have any talents, shopping is one of them.

With her figure, Dahlia needs separates or something with a lot of stretch to it. We flip through the racks looking for the rare gems.

A burnt orange mini-skirt grabs my attention. It’s a little more orange than burnt. Just enough color to stand out. “What about this?”

Dahlia looks up. “Is that a belt?”

“Probably. But we can pretend it’s a skirt.” But I will probably need to teach her how to sit and bend down in it without showing the goods.

“Love it.”

“Dahl.” Maverick growls.

Wow. I can feel that word down to my soul. Women would sell their right arm to hear a man say their name like that. They’d probably kill for it. If I was the violent type, I know I would.

Dahlia glares at him. “I’ll wear it if I want.”

“You can try.”

La La La, I’m totally pretending I did not see that sparkle in his eye. Do married people who are in love always act like this?

She snatches the hanger with the orange skirt on it and folds it over her arm to buy it with a defiant yet flirty smile.

Maverick turns his death glare back to me.

Ruh Roh. Change the topic now before he kills you. “How is the wedding planning going?”

“Ask Maverick. He just ordered enough flowers to cover an entire parade’s worth of floats.”

“That’s what your mother and the florist said we’d need.”

“And you weren’t the one that added twenty thousand dahlias onto the list?”

He shrugs. “They’re my favorite.”

The two of them are sickeningly sweet. What would it feel like—Nope, don’t dream about impossible things.