Keysha steps back, admiring her work. “It suits you.”
I glance in the mirror, surprised. The dark lowlights warm my features, and the curls fall effortlessly over my shoulders in a nice shape. Controlled. Feminine. I don’t feel like a girl pretending to be pretty. I feel good in my own skin.
Grayson crosses the room slowly, eyes glued to me like I’ve been gone a year. He stops just close enough to touch, pinching a single curl between his fingers, then letting it fall.
“It’s... different,” he mumbles.
Keysha arches a brow. “Different? She’s fire.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me with that look that stirs butterflies in my chest.
She grabs her purse and winks at me. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
As she heads for the door, Atticus comes downstairs. Tall, lean, collared shirt ironed to perfection. His hair is neat, andhis jaw clean-shaven. He’s no Brax. Less bulk, less bravado. But there’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves.
He’s older now. Twenty. He started interning as a game designer, working in the world-building segment. He loves it. He even got his first kiss last year.
With Keysha.
His eyes light up when she smiles at him. He straightens his spine and steps closer, only a little fidgety. “You look—”
She lifts a finger before he can finish. “No fantasy movie references, mister.”
His smile curves, more relaxed this time. “You lookgorgeous.”
She primps her hair and looks my way. “Damn right. This man knows how to talk to a woman.”
Then, she laces her fingers in his. They leave without another word. When the door clicks shut, silence closes around us.
I muse. “Atticus and Keysha... Think Brax will be mad his little brother is dating his ex when he finds out?”
Grayson shifts. “Brax wanted Meghan dead after I told him about the van. We set a truce. He knows you’re safer with me. He loves you in his own way. He loves Atticus, too. He will be happy for them.”
I nod. “Good. Atticus deserves it. After all, he saved us, huh?”
He tilts his head. “Youtied me up.”
“You’re stillmad?”
“No. I just haven’t forgotten.”
I laugh once, then glance at the small scar on my arm. A reminder. The bullet went clean through, but the memory isn’t clean at all. “It was chaos.”
His voice dips into that place. Dark, velvety, and intimate. Dangerous, really. “You think I don’t remember? Your body shaking. Fuck... that scream.”
His eyes lower.
I still shiver under his intense gaze, drowning in it. Love it. I blurt to break the tension, “Are you ever sad Meghan died?”
He furrows his brow, his confusion clear. “You’re my world. No other women visit my thoughts.”
I beam, but his answer twists something deep inside me. I lower my gaze to the ring on my finger, brushing the band. The metal is cool, but the memory behind it burns.
We married on the beach, not far from the docks where we had lunch every day. Nothing fancy, yet perfect.
Atticus gave me away. Keysha, my maid of honor. Everyone barefoot, but he wore a suit —so handsome— jaw tight, impatient, until he saw me step onto the beach in a flowy white dress. His eyes widened, overflowing with love. And like always, he couldn’t look away. He took my shaking hands and vowed he’d protect and take care of me. Everyone clapped, but he didn’t stop staring. Not once.
Because Grayson adores me. Worships me, really. In his own way.
