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Her brows rise up. “Classy but sexy? That’s?—”
“And expensive.” I take a breath. “Promise you won’t ask?”
“Hell no.”
I glare at her.
“Fine,” she mutters, looking at some of the other uptight dresses.
I take a deep breath. “For my engagement party tomorrow night.”
“Your—” She slowly turns her head to stare at me, then drags me outside. “Your what?”
“It’s complicated. Family complicated.”
She blows out a breath. “This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
“I know, but… I…”
She narrows her eyes and I drag my gaze in every direction but hers. “You like him.”
“I’m getting married.” I grab her arm and we start walking. “He’s hot. He’s rich. And he’s phenomenal in bed. Like has nothing to do with it.”
Lacey’s silent for way too long. But she’s also a good friend so she doesn’t press me on it. “So you need a dress.”
“Yes.”
Her face relaxes into a smile. “Come on, Cinderella. I know just the place, but you’re gonna owe me…”
By seven p.m. on the night of the engagement party, I’m so damn nervous that I’ve made and frosted two batches of cupcakes. Then I proceeded to eat four of them. I made a pit stop and bought the equipment and ingredients on the way home from shopping yesterday.
I rub my temples, sugar shock setting in. It makes my head throb.
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m about to walk into a total sham event with a criminal who is my bullshit betrothed.
I grab the edge of the sleek countertop that I cleaned until it gleamed.
“We’re not a match,” I say out loud to the empty kitchen. “We’re nothing, and the only thing you want is sex.”
I shudder because it’s true. I don’t need to like him to want him. I spent the last twenty-four hours walking on eggshells. Shopping therapy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, even if that shopping’s with Lacey.
She researched Malone but there was no photo to be found, which she claims is weird. She gave me one of her looks that speaks whole books when she saw what kind of business he owns.
But she did help me find the perfect dress, made me spend every cent he gave me, all three thousand dollars.
Who the fuck hands out three thousand in cash?
Criminals. That’s who. Dirty, no-good criminals.
He didn’t come home again last night. I know because I couldn’t sleep. I wandered around the place, walking through all the rooms, and he was nowhere to be found. He sleeps in one of the guest rooms, which was also empty. Although I did notice an old Piguet watch sitting on the nightstand next to the perfectly made bed. The face is scratched and it’s either stopped or doesn’t work, but it’s beautiful.
I don’t know why he’s got an antique watch in that condition by a guest bed.
I don’t know why he’s got quality watches at all. Rolex is more this man’s style. Obvious luxury.
The Piguet sits funny inside me.
It’s more personal.
