I dig the pink streaks in your hair. See you soon, he replies.
Tucking my cell away, I finish my tea, then check my hair in the mirror. It’s up again, the length braided and twisted around a bun in the back. Little curly wisps dangle from the side. I reapply my red lipstick. I get on the PA system and ask for Jane to come to my office.
She waltzes in, and I smile nervously. “It’s time. Will you help me?” I ask as I nudge my head at the dress hanging from a sconce on the wall.
She nods, her face impassive as she helps me change out of my slacks and blouse and into a tea-length dress that Brody insisted I get yesterday. He and Cas showed up at the store yesterday at closing time. Jane and I went with them to a bridal store in Tribeca. The place was appointment only, but Brody said his family knew the designer, and he was able to get us one after hours.
We lounged on a couch and watched as models showcased tea-length bridal gowns. I chose a champagne-colored, figure-hugging slip dress. Small sparkling beads adorn the material. My favorite part is the corset bodice with silk ribbons that tie in the back. I balked at the cost, but Brody insisted Graham wanted me to have a new dress. After a few alterations that only took minutes, we left the boutique.
Jane zips up the back, then turns me around. “You ready?”
“This dress is entirely too much for a civil ceremony,” I murmur as I gaze at myself in the mirror and smooth down the fabric. It is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.
“It’s perfect. Now, get out of here before I lock you in your office so you won’t marry him.”
“Babs would just let me out.”
She gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Good luck. I’m gonna go upstairs and straighten the shelves. Keep myself busy.”
The rotunda is full of customers when I walk out, but no one seems to notice I’m overly dressed. Books can do that to a person.
“Emmy?” says a familiar male voice. Sucking in a sharp breath, I look up from the messages I was reading on the manual typewriter in the rotunda.
What is he doing here?
Standing near the door, Kian wears joggers and a Nike shirt, as if he’s just come from the gym. His blue eyes laser in on mine. “Hey.”
“You can’t be here,” I hiss as I walk over. “I told you not to come near me. That includes the bookstore.”
“I would have called, but you blocked my number. I needed to talk to you.”
My heart jumps in my chest as I remember our fight, his choking me, me being terrified beyond reason. I recall the rushed way I packed, hands trembling, the intense adrenaline rushing through my veins.
My father may not have hurt me physically, but his abuse and my mother leaving left a wound on my soul. That hurt, that awful wound, has kept me from truly giving myself to anyone.
“You. Need. To. Leave,” Jane calls from the staircase as she rushes down the last few steps. Anger flashes from her eyes. Her voice has carried around the store, and a few customers openly stare at us.
I think she’s going to bump chests with him, so I put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back. “That’s enough,” I say under my breath.
“Come on, Emmy, please. Just give me a minute. Outside,” he adds. “It won’t take long.”
“Why?” I ask.
He exhales heavily. “I need to tell you about a visit I got yesterday. It’s important, or I wouldn’t have come.”
Okay, he has my interest.
“It’s about you and Graham.” He practically spits his name.
I exhale. “No tricks, Kian.”
He holds his hands up in a placating manner. “None. I’m sober. I haven’t had anything to drink for weeks.”
Ha. I’ve heard that before, but his eyes aren’t bloodshot, and he does seem calm. But appearances can be deceiving. My dad would be easy one minute, then turn into a monster the next.
“Are you seriously going to listen to him?” Jane asks, her tone incredulous.
Yes, I’m curious. Plus, a ton of people are outside, milling around on the sidewalk. It’s not like I’ll be alone with him. And if he knows anything real about me and Graham, then I need to know so I can protect Graham.
“I’m watching from the window,” she calls out as I follow him to the door, “and if he so much as looks at you wrong, I’m coming out with an axe.”
What’s scary is we do have an axe in the kitchen, next to the fire extinguisher. It’s not big, but it could do some damage.
Kian holds the door for me, and we exit the store. He takes a seat on a bench that faces the window and sends a wry wave to Jane, who simply glowers. I sit next to him and wait for that tingle of attraction, for the tug I used to feel, but there’s nothing but the bitter taste of regret.
He leans down and puts his elbows on his knees as a long exhale comes from his lips. “I really messed things up with you this time.”
“Yes.”
He gives me a glum look. “I put a tracker on your phone because I was fucking around on you.”
As I suspected. My intuition is rarely wrong. I grew up with mistrust and fear and learned early on to be hyperaware.
“I hurt you, then chased you across the desert to convince you to come back to me.”
“All true.”
A few beats of silence pass as he mulls over what to say next.
“I’m a real asshole, Emmy, and I’m sorry.”
Sincerity is in his tone, true, and I appreciate it, but . . . “Leaving bouquets of lilies won’t fix anything, Kian.”
Then his next words make me flinch.
“Missy admitted she called you and told you that I was coming to your motel. You must have been desperate to get away. You stole Graham Harlan’s car to escape me.” He cocks an eye at me, studying my reaction.
“Me? Hardly.” I blink innocently.
“Here’s the thing. This guy came around to my place and started asking questions about you and Graham. He claimed to be a reporter, but I know a PI when I see one. I saw your engagement post, by the way. Congrats. It’s created quite a stir in football world. ‘Kian Adams’s ex set to marry Graham Harlan.’ But whatever. I didn’t deserve you, and I fucked it up royally. Too much drinking. Too much money. Fame. I’ve hit some rough patches in my career, and I was lashing out.”
I tense. “There’s no excuse for what you did.”
His mouth twists.
“You’re responsible for your actions,” I add. “You caused harm. Don’t do it to someone else. Don’t hurt Missy.”
“Forget her. You look beautiful,” he says, his gaze caressing me.
My lips press together as I say nothing.
He inches closer. “Anyway, I thought you should know that this guy told me you stole Graham’s car. He also asked me about your parents. That’s why I came. I know how private you are and wanted to warn you.”
Graham mentioned that he didn’t file a report about me, just that his car was stolen, so the PI must have talked to the clerk at the front desk.
He makes a noise in his throat, a pained sound. “Tell me, Emmy, was it love at first sight—with Graham?”
I stare down at my beaded shoes. “Yes.”