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He isn’t kidding.
This car is here for me.
I float closer, mouth hanging open. “Tristan—how did you—why did you?—”
“I noticed you eying one at the valet stand when we went shopping. This model is top of the line, though. And it’s a convertible.”
I just gape. At the car. At him.
Why on earth would he do this? Is it his way of trying to get closer to me? Or yet another in an endless string of apologies?
Because—I get it. He’s sorry. He’s sorry he bit me and bonded me and brought me home. And it doesn’t seem to matter that I’m not sorry anymore. Because he’s remorseful enough for the both of us.
My head shakes. “I—I don’t need this, Tristan. If it’s some apology or a way to make yourself feel better I just?—”
But he strides right to me. Closer than the polite distance he used to maintain so carefully. Fervor lights his features as he sinks those ocean irises into mine.
“It’s not an apology or a bribe. I won’t lie and say you don’t deserve both, but that’s not why I wanted to do this. It’s a gift,” he husks out. “Because you deserve beautiful things. And I want to be the man who gets them for you.”
Oh. My. God.
Can I ask—how, exactly, does one argue with that?
No? Stop? Please?
I blink down at the sleek, outrageously beautiful convertible, trying to come up with any way I can possibly object.
And I only come up with one.
“You guys won’t fit.”
Tristan’s dark brow creases. “You mean…”
“All of you,” I murmur, brushing my fingers over the flawless matte-black hood. “I love this car, Tristan. It is beautiful, and it means a lot that you noticed how much I liked it, but… I won’t be able to drive with everyone in the car. Like for…”
Family time.
The words sound so stupid in my head that I can’t get them out.
I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’ve never had a real family—and if we really wanted to be one, that would mean completing the bond with Tris before the others claim me.
Sometimes, I swear he can read my mind. It would bother me more if he weren’t so damn kind about it.
As it is, Tristan just smiles—and God, it isn’t fair how gorgeous he is when he does that. “Then I suppose I’ll have to buy you another,” he says. “For our family.”
When Tristan admits that Jonah’s texts were a ruse and, really, the senator is the one taking me to dinner, I’m not even surprised. Of all my guys, Jo is definitely the softy. Of course he wanted to help Tris with…
Whatever this is.
I try to figure it out as he steers my car through the posh, brick streets surrounding the townhouse. He tried to convince me to drive, but I was too chicken. Besides, there are a lot worse things than this view…
The houses here are beautiful we pass French-country mansions, stately colonials, and a huge modern-Gothic estate that turns my head.
Good Lord—do those people have their own greenhouse?
Where are we?
Tris drives the Lamborghini like he was born to—which, I guess, he sort of was. Still, though, his casual handling and inherent sex appeal would be enough to have the interior soaked in my perfume if I hadn’t bathed in de-scenter.
