Mia’s confusion dissolved into something warmer, something like acceptance. “Think less of you? Never in a million years.”
I grinned and leaned back on my heels, grateful for her in ways words would always fail to express. My gaze landed on her attire—a shirt so big it could double as a tent—and I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at it. “Why are you swimming in that thing?”
Her laugh tinkled through the room as she shrugged helplessly. “Would you believe a teacup-sized terror shredded most of my clothes? And then there was this beast of a dog who seems to think tearing fabric is the highest form of entertainment.”
My laughter joined hers—boisterous and tinged with the ridiculousness our lives often skirted around.
“Come on,” I said, tugging at the hem of her oversized shirt. “Let’s get you into something less… tentlike.”
She tried to protest, but I was already leading her toward the walk-in closet with all the resolve of someone saving another from fashion purgatory.
The walk-in closet was like stepping into another world—one where order reigned supreme until you hit my corner which boasted a controlled chaos that would make Matt twitch.
“Wow,” Mia breathed out as she stepped inside after me.
“Yeah,” I said with a smirk while picking through my neatly folded shirts. “I keep my side just shy of military precision.” My smirk grew wider as I added, “Sometimes though, I let things slip just to get under his skin.”
Her laughter was genuine and warm—it filled up the closet and spilled out into the rest of the penthouse.
Mia hesitated then, biting her lip before she asked softly, “What exactly is going on between you two?”
I stiffened despite myself—the question was like an icy draft slipping under a doorframe.
“You don’t have to answer,” she quickly amended upon seeing my discomfort.
But honesty bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me—a place not yet smoothed over by cynicism or weariness. “No,” I said after a beat too long spent wrestling with my own feelings. “It’s not that… It’s just—I don’t know what we are.”
The sigh that followed felt like it pulled from depths uncharted even by me.
Shaking off the momentary lapse into vulnerability, I handed her one of my crisp dress shirts before moving to sift through jeans that would never fit her right.
“Andy—” She held up a hand before I could dive too deep into denim despair.
“Just the shirt will do,” she insisted with a small smile.
I eyed Mia, a smirk playing on my lips despite the concern gnawing at me. “You think you’re stepping out in that getup? Honey, those Vegas vultures will eat you alive. You’re like a lamb prancing in a lion’s den.”
Her innocence was endearing but as much a shield as tissue paper against the sin of the Strip. “I was just like you once,” I admitted, nostalgia laced with a bitter twist. “Blissfully unaware, until this city chewed me up and spat me out.”
Snatching a pair of jeans from their neatly folded perch, I tossed them to her. “Here, change into these.”
Mia caught them, her face the picture of gratitude. “Thanks, Andy,” she said, a note of relief in her voice.
I chuckled, shaking my head as I turned away to give her some privacy. “No sweat.”
She began fiddling with the button, so I spun on my heel to leave her to it—privacy and all that jazz. I’d made it halfway to the door when something stopped me dead—a feeling like I’d missed a step on the stairs. I turned back, my heart plummeting.
Mia had started to unbutton her shirt, but she paused at my sharp intake of breath. Her eyes were wide pools of concern. “Andy? What’s wrong?”
Words lodged in my throat as I reached for her, my fingers working faster than my brain. The fabric fell away, revealing more than I was prepared for—angry marks marring her skin.
“What the hell?” The words came out as a growl, dark and dangerous.
Mia’s eyes were twin flames of defiance and embarrassment. She tried to cover herself with what remained of her shirt.
“Andy! Stop!”
I couldn’t help it; anger boiled over, spilling out through clenched teeth. “Who did this to you? Who dared touch my sister?”
