“I’m wearing these,” I tell her.
“Tonight or tomorrow?”
“Both. To school. To buy groceries. When I die. Forever. I’m never going to take them off.”
Grinning, she takes them and admires them with a series of little gasps as she rotates them, admiring them from every angle.
There’s a dress in each garment bag, one a short, dark blue sequined dress I’ll have to pour myself into, the other a nude fit and flare dress with black lace overlay and a plunging neckline.
“He done good,” my mom announces solemnly.
“Oh yeah,” I say, nodding in agreement.
“You’ve only been dating a month, right? I think he spent more on you right here than Brax’s spent on me ever. Marry this boy.”
I roll my eyes at her, but I can’t hold back a smile, holding up my very own pretty dress.
—
For some reason, instead of sending Vince, they send a town car to pick me up. I can only imagine it’s to impress my mom, and boy, does it work. She stands on the front porch with her eyes popping out of her head, practically salivating as I climb into the backseat in my pretty new dress and sky-high Louboutins.
I allow myself to get excited on the drive over, and by the time I get there, I feel like Cinderella at the ball. The driver even opens my door for me.
Adrian answers the door, Elise trailing behind him. “I was coming!”
Smiling at her affectionately, he says, “You do enough.”
She smiles warmly, lightly touching his arm before she turns to head back to whatever she was doing.
“She’s pretty,” I remark, none too innocently.
For some reason, I don’t expect him to remain soft, and say, “Yeah, she is.” Missing a beat, he asks, “Looking for Vince?”
“I am.” On impulse, because I feel like he’s more human right now, I do a little twirl and point to my shoes. “Like my new outfit?”
“Very pretty,” he says gruffly, with an obligatory nod.
I beam and follow him, but I slow down when he heads for the study.
“Is he with Mateo? I should probably wait.”
“Nah, come on in. We’re not doing anything important.”
There are more of them tonight—Mateo perched on the edge of his desk with a glass of amber liquid, Alec from the night before in one of the arm chairs around the area rug, a third guy I haven’t met—but clearly a Morelli, by the look of him—pouring himself a drink from a crystal decanter. Vince is in an arm chair across from Alec, and without more than a moment’s hesitation, I run over and hop in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and showering his face with a bunch of little kisses.
The guy I don’t recognize laughs, saying, “Vince’s girlfriend, I presume?”
“That’s her,” Mateo confirms, voice laced with amusement.
Vince grins at me as I finally pull back, shifting the drink I didn’t notice in his hand. Thankfully he didn’t spill any of it on me. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s that for?”
“You’re the best,” I tell him, simply. “You deserve a million face kisses.”
“For?”
Eyes widening, I lean back and indicate my whole body. “The dresses. And the shoes—oh my God, I’m going to marry these shoes. Thank you so much.”
He hasn’t stopped smiling, but it’s certainly dimmed, and there’s a crease of confusion in his brow. “What are you talking about? What dress? This dress?”
My enthusiasm stops short. The room has gone quiet. Adrian passes behind Vince and I glance at him, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. I glance at the next man I can see, the newcomer, clearly in the dark, but paying attention as the scene unfolds. Then I look at Mateo, and he’s the only one still amused.
Stomach sinking, my smile finally falls.
Raising his glass in my direction, Mateo winks. “You’re welcome.”
The silent tension in the room grows, and I slowly look back at Vince, pasting on a more apologetic smile. “I guess I should’ve asked,” I murmur quietly.
Shaking his head very slightly, he says, “Natural to assume the person you’re sleeping with is the one buying you gifts.”
Instead of having the decency to feel bad for Vince’s discomfort, Mateo tells me, “I’ll take an I.O.U. on the million face kisses, by the way. Seems like we’d be late to dinner otherwise.”
He doesn’t shove me off his lap, like he probably wants to, but Vince does throw back the rest of the liquid in his glass.
I wish I didn’t feel trapped in his lap now. Getting up feels like a rebuff, but sitting here while this awkwardness lingers is pure torture.
Adrian takes Vince’s glass and refills it, bringing it right back.
“Good man,” Vince says, putting a good dent in that one, too.
Another tense minute passes before I give up. Leaning in to give him one last kiss on the cheek, I say, “I’m gonna go see if they need help in the kitchen.”