Page 21

TWELVE

AUDREY

“Now, you’re absolutely certain the Patterson girl will be there?” Lucille picks up the reunion invitation I strategically left on my dresser.

“Her father was one of our foundation’s biggest donors last year, you know.”

“Yep, Sarah confirmed yesterday.” I tuck my toiletry bag into the side pocket. “She mentioned that Rebecca Mills will be there, too. Her husband runs that pharmaceutical company.”

Lucille nods approvingly from her perch on my vanity chair.

“Excellent. Her mother sits on the board at Children’s Hospital, and we could use that connection for the charity gala.”

“I’ll be sure to reconnect with everyone,” I say, making my voice appropriately dutiful while my mind races with thoughts of Reign.

It’s Saturday morning, and I’m in my room packing for my secret weekend away with Reign. I told Lucille that I’m going to a high school majorette reunion this weekend. It’s not exactly a lie. There really is a reunion happening, and I really did register. I’m just not planning to attend.

Lucille watches me fold my night gown, her manicured fingers tapping against the invitation.

“And you’ll stay at the resort the entire weekend?” She studies me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing.

“That’s the plan.” I zip the suitcase closed, avoiding her gaze. “The reunion committee booked a block of rooms.”

“Good. Gio mentioned he has business in New York this weekend, anyway.” She stands, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her cream-colored skirt. “Perhaps this little getaway will help you refocus. You’ve seemed distracted lately.”

If only she knew how distracted. My phone buzzes with a text, and I know without looking it’s Reign telling me he’s ten minutes out.

“I should get going,” I say, lifting my suitcase. “Don’t want to miss the welcome brunch.”

She follows me to the foyer, watching as I set my suitcase by the door.

“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t take Harold,” she says, referring to our driver.

“It’s a casual reunion, Lucille. I want to blend in, not arrive like royalty.” I force a light laugh. “Besides, I enjoy the drive through the mountains.”

Her gaze sweeps over me one more time, cataloging and critiquing as always. “Well, drive safely. Text me when you arrive.”

She glides from my room, leaving behind the lingering scent of her new perfume. It smells expensive and suffocating, like everything else about my life in this house. I wait until I hear her heels clicking down the marble staircase before I grab my phone.

She bought it. Leaving in twenty minutes.

Good girl. I’ll be waiting.

Forty minutes later, I’m navigating the winding mountain roads toward Fit Mountain Resort. The resort appears through the trees, all rustic elegance and mountain charm. I pull into the parking lot and find a spot near the back, away from the main entrance, where I might be recognized.

My phone shows 10:47. Reign said he’d be here by eleven, but knowing him, he’s probably already watching from somewhere.

A black truck turns into the parking lot, and my breath catches.

Even from across the asphalt, I can see his silhouette through the windshield.

Tall, broad, unmistakably mine. He parks three spaces away, and I force myself to wait, to maintain some semblance of composure as I grab my bag and lock my car.

But the moment I start walking toward him, all pretense falls away.

My steps quicken without conscious thought, my body drawn to his like a magnet.

He’s already out of the truck, standing by the passenger door in faded jeans and a black henley that stretches across his chest. His eyes track my movement with predatory focus, and I see his hands clench at his sides like he’s physically restraining himself from closing the distance between us.

“Hi,” I breathe when I reach him, the simple word completely inadequate for this moment.

His response isn’t verbal.

The second I’m within reach, Reign’s hands are on me, one sliding into my hair while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me against him. Then his mouth claims mine with three days of pent-up hunger, the kiss deep and demanding and absolutely devastating to my composure.

I melt into him, and my bag drops to the asphalt as my arms wind around his neck.

He tastes like coffee and cinnamon, like home and safety and every wild dream I’ve ever been too afraid to voice.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan softly, not caring that we’re in a public parking lot where anyone could see.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he growls against my lips. “Three days felt like three years.”

“I know,” I gasp between kisses. “I know, I missed you, too.”

He presses me back against the truck, his body caging mine as he continues his assault on my senses. Every point of contact burns through my clothes, reminding me of what I’ve been missing. His beard scrapes against my skin in the most delicious way, and I arch into him, needing more.

“Inside,” he commands roughly, reaching around me to open the passenger door. “Before I take you right here in this parking lot.”

The threat in his voice makes me clench with need, but I let him help me into the truck. The moment I’m seated, I notice something different about the interior.

The passenger side has been transformed into what can only be described as a princess setup.

A soft blanket is folded on the seat, there’s a small cooler in the footwell, and the cup holder contains my favorite coffee drink from the local shop—iced vanilla latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso.

“Reign,” I breathe, taking in all the details. There’s a phone charger already plugged in for my specific model, a small basket with my favorite snacks, even a travel pillow in soft pink.

“Passenger princess,” he says, rounding the truck to slide into the driver’s seat. “Figured if you’re going to be stuck in the truck for the drive, you should be comfortable.”

My eyes burn with unexpected tears as I pick up the basket, finding not just snacks but specific items I mentioned loving during our late-night calls. Dark chocolate covered almonds. Those expensive sparkling waters I’m addicted to. Even the particular brand of mints I prefer.

“You remembered all of this?” My voice comes out thick with emotion.

He reaches over, cupping my face with one large hand. “I remember everything about you, baby. Every detail, every preference, every single thing that makes you happy.”

The tears spill over then, and he catches them with his thumb. “Hey, none of that. This weekend is about making you smile, not cry.”

“These are good tears,” I assure him.

“I know,” he says simply, leaning over to kiss me again, softer this time. “But get used to it. This is how it’s going to be from now on.”

The certainty in his voice makes me believe him. Makes me believe that somehow, despite all the obstacles between us and the life I want, he’ll make it happen.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, and I know he means his cabin, but the word resonates deeper.

“Yes,” I whisper, settling back into my passenger princess setup. “Take me home.”

He starts the truck, his hand finding mine across the console. As we pull out of the parking lot, I feel something inside me settle. The mountain roads unfold before us, each curve taking me further from the suffocating expectations of Cooper Heights and closer to the mountain peaks above.

Reign’s hand rests on my thigh, and when I look over at him, I see a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"Nothing," he says, but the smirk deepens. "Just trying to picture you in one of those little sequined outfits, throwing a baton around."

Heat creeps up my neck at the way his voice drops on “little sequined outfits.” "You're terrible."

"I'm curious," he corrects, glancing at me with those devastating blue eyes. "Here I was thinking art was your thing, and it turns out my baby was out there performing in tiny skirts and white boots. Did you do those high kicks, too?"

"Reign!" I swat at his arm, but I'm laughing despite myself. "It wasn't like that."

"No? Because I'm getting some very interesting mental images right now." His hand squeezes my thigh in a way that makes me squirm. "Tell me you have pictures."

"Ugh, you're impossible." But I'm smiling, remembering how different those days were.

I think back to the hours of practice in the gymnasium, my muscles screaming as I perfected routine after routine.

About the bus rides to away games, all of us crammed together, applying too much hairspray and glitter.

The rush of performing under Friday night lights, the crowd’s energy feeding into every toss and turn.

"Art was my thing,” I tell him. “But Lucille... Well, Lucille had other ideas. She thought majorettes would help me 'mix with the right crowd' as she put it. Network with the daughters of important families."

Reign snorts. "Of course, she did."

"It wasn't so bad," I say quickly. “My dad never missed a performance,” I say, my throat tightening with the memory. “He’d sit in the same spot, third row behind our bench, wearing this ridiculous custom shirt with my picture on it. Lucille was mortified, but he didn’t care. After every game, win or lose, he’d be waiting with hot chocolate and a hug.”

Reign’s thumb stills on my thigh. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He was.” I blink away the sudden moisture in my eyes. “Even when I didn’t always catch the baton.”

Reign chuckles softly. “I feel like there’s a story there.”

“State championship, junior year.” I groan at the memory. “Biggest routine of my life, and I dropped it right in the middle. The sound it made hitting the gymnasium floor? I still hear it in nightmares sometimes. But I picked it up and finished, even though I knew we’d lost.”

“That takes guts.” His hand moves from my thigh to capture mine, interlacing our fingers. “Most people would have frozen.”