He shrugs. “I did. I’m sorry. To be fair, I thought the wine would just spill onto the food you weren’t eating anyway. I didn’t realise your glass was so full.”
“Well it was, so thanks a bunch, asshead. You can take me shopping tomorrow.”
“Done,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “Whatever you want. It’s yours.”
My eyes narrow further, to mere slits. “You can’t buy forgiveness, Mitch.”
“I know that, but you’ve been through a lot in the last week. More hell than some people go through in a lifetime. You deserve some time out to focus on something frivolous like shopping.”
It’s a sentiment I can’t deny, and Mitch is vulnerable right now. I should be taking advantage rather than getting my knickers twisted in a knot. Leaning back against the dresser behind me, I fold my arms and contemplate my traitorous brother. “I want matching shoes to go with the new dress.”
“Done.”
“And a matching clutch.”
“Done.”
“And jewellery.”
His brows rise a fraction, but he agrees nonetheless. “Okay.”
Hmmm, what else? My stomach rumbles, putting in its two cents. “And buffet lunch at the Marriott.”
“You—”
“No wait. Lunch at Mr. Chow’s. You better ratchet up the charm so you can get us a table at such short notice.”
“I can—”
I cut him off again. I’m on a roll now. Full steam ahead. “We can follow that up with a trip to Zumbo’s patisserie. I’ve got a hankering for a donut soft serve cone.” That shit is an orgasmic diabetes attack. “With sprinkles.”
“Okay,” Mitch says slowly. “Can I talk now?”
My stomach sinks. I don’t want to talk. Mitch is always too reasonable, and too easy to forgive. I want to stew in my anger for years to come. I want to hold this over my brothers until the goddamn end of time. The apocalypse can bring zombies, acid rain, and the implosion of earth, and I will still go to my catastrophic death happily clinging to my wrath. They deserve no less.
“I’ll let you talk,” I say, and he opens his mouth to speak, but I’m not finished. “On one condition.”
His mouth snaps closed for a moment. Then he concedes with a nod. “Okay, what?”
I give him a level stare. “Jake comes with us tomorrow.”
If Mitch hesitates, I’ll know he still doesn’t like the thought of Jake and me together, and any kind of apology he gives will be moot.
“Of course.” Mitch smirks. “That’s if he actually wants to go shopping with you.”
There was no hesitation in his answer, and my heart thaws the slightest fraction. “Okay. Talk.”
“Mac, honey?” Mum calls out. Her voice gets closer as she makes her way up the stairs. “Do you have the dress? The sooner we get to that stain the better.”
Mitch steps to the side, allowing our mother through the bedroom door. I collect the dress from the timber rung of my old bed. She takes it, talking as she walks back out, expecting us to follow. I give my brother a sardonic shrug as I follow her while she chatters. “I got you a fresh plate of food and your father opened another bottle of wine. It’s resting on the table so get yourself another glass.”
“Tomorrow,” Mitch says from behind as he follows us down the staircase.
They always say tomorrow never comes, but to me the statement is illogical. Last night, ‘tomorrow’ was Sunday, and now it’s Sunday. Hence tomorrow came.
And here we are, the four of us—because Jake readily agreed to the shopping trip and somehow Elijah got included too. It feels uncomfortable, like I’m wearing the wrong-sized jacket. I roll my shoulders, trying to disperse some tension.
The day isn’t going well. In fact, it started out strained and is rapidly declining into downright torture.
Mitch is being so obsessively accommodating it’s making my teeth grind. Jake is ignoring Mitch. When he isn’t, he subjects my brother to angry glares. And every time we walk inside another store, he heaves a resigned sigh. Shopping clearly makes him miserable. Too bad. This is what I do with my friends. If he doesn’t like it, he can find the nearest exit.
And Elijah is being … well, weird. His expression toward Jake when he thinks I’m not watching is downright calculating. I don’t understand it. But with me he’s being overly solicitous, as if I’m an invalid on leave from the hospital.
All of them are being painful, and I haven’t found a single dress I like. I’m ready to give up when I find the one. It’s deep red, yet still rich and vibrant. Strapless with a sweetheart neckline and barely breathable waistline, it drapes over my hips until it reaches the floor. Trying it on is a delicious Pretty Woman moment that I want to revel in until the end of time. Or at least a few more minutes.
“Can I help zip you?” the sales lady calls through the door of the fitting room. Though, fitting room is an understatement; it’s large enough to hold a small settee, on which my handbag rests.
“Give me a minute,” I call back.
I slide the dress up my legs. Holding the back of it together, I use my other hand to unlatch the door. It opens but the saleslady has disappeared. Instead, Mitch steps inside the spacious enclosure. His big, stupid bulk makes the room claustrophobic.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, grabbing the gaping front of the dress to make sure it covers my front. It causes the fabric to fall and gape at the back instead.
“Zipping you,” he says, shutting and latching the door behind him. “Turn around.”
I turn and face the mirror, shoulders tense. My brother stands behind me. He’s a head taller than I am so I can see him clearly. He makes quick work of the dress, zipping me together from my waist upwards in one swift movement.
When he’s done, he rests warm palms on my bare shoulders and looks at me in the mirror. A faint smile rests on his lips. “It’s perfect.”
An evil glint lights my eyes. “It’s six thousand dollars.”
He flinches yet holds strong. “What can you do? The dress was made for you.”
It was. My gaze runs the length of the dress and back up again before returning to Mitch. His eyes have softened and my heart gives a tiny bleat, causing my shoulders to slump a fraction. “You don’t have to buy it, Stitch.”
His eyes soften further at the nickname. The use is familiar. Friendlier. Damn him. He does this all the time. His dumb soft heart is hard to deny.
“I do,” he counters.
“It’s too much. I would never really expect you to spend that kind of money.”
“You look beautiful, Mac. I’m buying it.”
My eyes shift back to the dress again. “Where would I wear it?”
“Let Jake take care of that part.”
I turn and his hands fall away from my shoulders. “We’re just friends.”
Mitch has the nerve to laugh. “That’s a crock and you know it. Jake was made for you, just like that dress was.”
The comment has the breath catching in my throat. It’s a statement I never expected from my brother. “Why do you think that?”