Page 53 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Fifty-Two

HOLLY

Six weeks later…

In a failing attempt to braid my hair the way I want to, I huff, feeling my cheeks flush with frustration. “Gahh, stupid hair,” I vent, throwing my brush on the bed and crossing my arms.

He should be home any minute now and I’m not even ready. My hair is a bloody disaster. Though, he’d still love me even with enough grease in my hair to drizzle a pork for the crunchiest crackling.

But today, my hair just doesn’t want to cooperate with my technique.

I want to look good… uhh, sorry, scratch that, I want to look over the top for Cyrus today.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and he deserves to have me pretty in red, the color of love.

I got my nails polished this morning with a simple french tip, and less than 24 hours ago I waxed from head to toe—which I do not recommend doing by the way, unless you enjoy the feeling of your skin separating from the subcutaneous tissue—for my fake tan to go on, that I’ve only just washed off.

“Is that a cranky princess in distress I hear?” Cyrus’s voice rumbles from the other side of the bedroom door, startling me. I didn’t even hear the front door . But then again, he is good at stalking. “On your special day?”

“Hey, no peeking!” I shout, running to nudge the door closed. “And I’m pretty sure Valentine’s Day is our special day,”

I can hear his hands press against the door, his muffled voice vibrating through it. “Nope. You get all the special princess treatment today because you mean the world to me, and it’s my job to make sure you are spoiled rotten.”

“That’s not fair, what about you?”

“Me? I get spoiled rotten too…” There’s a playful note to his heated tone. “Burying my face between your legs is what I call being spoiled rotten.”

“Naughty.”

“Indeed. So, what has you so worked up, anyway?”

My tongue rests on the back of my upper teeth, split seconds away from pronouncing the word nothing , but he speaks again. “Don’t you dare.”

I sigh. He knows me too well. “It’s my hair.”

“What’s wrong with it? Oh, don’t tell me… you’ve gone bald, haven’t you? Or accidentally dyed it blue?”

“No, ya muppet,” I toy, leaning around the bathroom door to catch another glimpse at my very much UN-styled hair in the mirror. “I just can’t get it to sit right. I was trying to braid it so it looked nice under a beanie as well as when I take it off without it frizzing, but I just can’t?—”

“ Fuck. ”

I crane my neck over my shoulder, seeing Cyrus’s stoic gaze burning over my body. So much for no peeking. I’m only wearing my new matching red lingerie set, and since he said red is his favorite color on me I think it’s safe to say that I have successfully short circuited his brain.

“You like?” I ask, even though I didn’t need to. His eyes drop to the now obvious bulge in his pants, then back up to me with a do you really need an answer look on his face. “Hmm, that’s a yes, then.”

My cheeks heat to his warm hands as he plants them there, then slides them down to cradle the nape of my neck.

“If it wasn’t for this reservation, I’d be having you right here, right now,” he says, grabbing a bundle of my hair from each side, and twirls it between his fingers.

“But it’s going to have to wait, because if we don’t leave in the next 10 minutes, we’re going to miss our schedule. ”

The northern lights.

What is it with us and missing, or nearly missing important events?

Oh, that’s right. Because we can’t keep our hands off each other.

??Cyrus is taking me out to lunch downtown today, then to Vermillion Lakes for a romantic, scenic hike, then to see the northern lights—for real this time.

I flashback in memory of the night he attempted to come around to invite me to see them the first time, but saw me…

taking care of myself through the window instead.

“I’m so excited. I’ll just have to settle for a ponytail, I don’t have time to do anything else.”

He gestures for me to sit on the bed between his thighs. “Nonsense. Sit down for me. I’ll do your hair.” I do as he asks, and let him take the pressure off of my bad hair day .

My eyes roll into the back of my head at the sensation of him tugging at my scalp as he begins his twining . It’s so beautifully euphoric, and relaxing. Like a narcotic.

I sigh, still annoyed at myself for not being able to do it myself.

Usually I can manage it without failure, but in defense of my vexed emotions, it might have something to do with it having been pretty busy at home lately—trying to edit Cyrus’s book, as well as filling in for Riverton’s previous editor by editing Renee’s book too.

Work is great, I’m doing what I’ve always wanted, but doing it at the same time as unboxing my stuff…

the moving in thing… the re-organizing his library for my books.

It’s been… chaos .

And don’t even get me started on the conundrum with Quinn over our confession. We truly did think that our careers were going to plummet six feet under when the world discovered that members of Riverton House were sleeping with their employees, but it was the total opposite .

Quinn, the fucker , had rung Cyrus the morning after the New Year’s Gala, calling him every name under the sun, and handed him an instant dismissal, but guess what? He cared none. Because the next day came along, and he received a call.

A call from Penny Kraiten.

Kraiten Publishing.

Cyrus couldn’t pass up the offer. A once in a lifetime opportunity.

Myself included. And Stacy . Leaving Quinn and Riverton House empty .

Now he’s only weeks away from submitting our book, with high expectations of it landing a New York Times Bestseller on release day.

I’m officially registered on the team of editors for Kraiten Publishing.

And Stacy— my best friend— is officially a contracted author. An out and proud one, too.

So, yeah. It’s been absolute CHAOS! God, I feel so tense right now. Plus, until now, I feel like I haven’t actually had a chance to unwind. Not like this, at least.

“Relax, angel. I’ve got you,” Cyrus’s words put me at peace in an instant.

They always do. He runs his palm over the tight, finished plaits and grabs my chin from behind, tilting my head slightly with a growl.

“Mmm, perfect,” his hot breath simmers over the delicate part of my neck before planting a kiss there. “You’re simply perfect, my love.”

I don’t know how he does braids so well, but I guess having three sisters would do it. He did mention he treated them like princesses, as did his father before him. I’d love to meet them one day, they sound so lovely.

Suddenly I have an image flick through my mind and it’s almost surreal.

A beautiful, purple and pink Gold Coast sunset in the backdrop with Cyrus wearing a crisp navy suit, and his sisters beside him dressed to the nines.

There’s a young child holding his hand. A daughter of our own, dressed in a smaller version of the dress I’m wearing. A white one. A wedding dress.

“We’re perfect,” I say, facing him. His eyes drift from my left eye, to my right, rolling down to my lips, then back to my gaze once more. He repeats this pattern until I make sense that I’m holding my breath.

“ We’re perfect, ” Cyrus’s words mirror mine, adding more hunger and depravity.

Oh, he is so straight out of a book.

And doesn’t that just make my heart sing for him?

He breathes inward heavily, causing me to do the same and my vision fogs slightly. “That’s better. You forget that you have lungs and a heart to keep pumping sometimes.”

“That’s on you, Mister.” I wave my index finger playfully and he kisses it. “I’d better get dressed before…” Well, you know…

He flicks his wrist, checking his watch with a smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, I could manage in less than two minutes with you looking like that.

Actually, I hate to admit it, but at this rate, thirty seconds is all I need.

Except you deserve more than half a minute of attention.

You deserve hours. Days. Weeks of it, even. ”

“How about a lifetime?”

Time pauses for a beat before his eyes smile with him, as if he saw the same vision I had a moment ago. “A lifetime is it.”

He lowers my beanie over my head, and threads my coat on. “I’ll get the door for you, madam.”