Page 54 of Lavish

Why did I even fall for her scheme?

Miles. He was to blame. If I hadn’t slept with him, if he had taken control of his father that night, my parents wouldn’t have fought. Laurene’s engagement would have gone well instead of the disaster that happened. She wouldn’t have fought withMama, and I wouldn’t have been sent to that networking dinner. I’d never have met Jenese. I’d never have fallen for her lies. I’d never have done everything I did with her.

So really… He was the one to blame for the mess of my life.

“We’re not here to really shop,” I told him when he finally decided to pull himself from the deep debate with the man selling avocados.

“You literally have nothing in your fridge but baking soda, whiskey, and those sad-ass-looking paleo meals. I need protein. You think I keep this gorgeous body right and tight off of rice cakes?” Miles looked at me with a frown before he finally settled on a deal for five insanely priced avocados.

“Those meals are prepared by a Michelin star chef.”

“They look like those meals Eddie Murphy was eating as Sherman inThe Nutty Professor. I will not be putting it into my temple.” He placed a hand on his pecs, and I tried not to get distracted by that at all.

Fine. I wouldn’t argue with him about having more food in the fridge.

Miles finished talking to the guy, and we kept walking through the crowd. We passed a small wooden fruit stand stacked with peaches and strawberries.

“You still hate peaches?” he asked.

“Absolutely. They’re slimy. The texture freaks me out.”

That earned me a side glance. A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips. “I remember you pretending to eat them then spitting them in a napkin and throwing it away when your grandpa wasn’t looking.”

A warm feeling spread through me, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Grandpa Ben liked them. I tried to like them for him but…” I shrugged. “And you used to eat them like they were gold.”

“Because theyare,Miss Rice Cakes.”

Only two years. We could do this for two years, right? I slowed my steps, and Miles walked ahead of me, a canvas tote slung over his shoulder, brimming with fresh herbs and vegetables like some kind of domestic fantasy we didn’t earn.

With an easy confidence, he moved through the dense crowd; his broad shoulders carved a path, the sounds of chatter and laughter fading as people instinctively made way.

I bit my lip, watching as he smiled at people walking by.

Even with the entire mess that happened with his father, Miles was still smiling.Happy.

And not pretend-happy. Not the tight, professional smile I’d spent years perfecting. His happiness was unbothered. Loose. Real.

I tried to remember the last time I felt anything close to that.

Had I ever?

No. I’d trained myself out of joy. Joy wasn’t productive.

Miles never measured his worth in quarterly reports or proximity to perfection. He laughed at dumb jokes. He made room for chaos. I still remembered when he convinced me to sneak out of the house for the first time when we were kids.

Shit. Miles was a bad influence on my life. He’d always been a bad influence.

He looked back at me suddenly—just a glance over his shoulder. Caught me staring. A slow, knowing smirk curled on his lips.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, too quickly.

His lips twitched like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t press. Instead, he gestured to a stall up ahead, and without thinking, I assumed, he grabbed my hand. “C’mon. I got something to change your mind.”

The warmth of his hand in mine felt like a strange, potent drug, leaving me weak and vulnerable.