On the drive, he glances more than once at my bare legs, but he doesn’t touch me.
“So what’s the deal with dressing up?” he asks, running his hand over the top of the steering wheel. “You wore a dress to dinner at my grandfather’s house, and you’re wearing one now. What was the problem at the platinum party?”
I stiffen, resting my hands on my knees. A quick glance at his profile reveals his eyes are fixed on the road.
“That kind of elaborate staging of myself reminds me of beauty pageant prep.” A road sign announces we’re twelve miles from Boston. Almost there. “My last pageant was a Dumpster fire. I developed…they say it’s a mild to moderate case of PTSD. It makes events that require formal wear difficult.”
My tongue darts out to moisten my dry lips. Just thinking about the triggers makes me cringe.
"Why the hell did Sheri force you into doing those?”
“My mom didn’t force me. She’d won a lot of prizes and scholarship money in pageants. She wanted that for me, too. But when I couldn’t do it anymore, she let me stop.”
“What made the last one a Dumpster fire?”
I grimace and watch the trees outside my window whip by. “Just a bad scene with my bio dad. My parents fought about everything, but he’d never directed his anger at me before. I don’t think he meant to that day either, but he was looking at me while he was yelling. It felt like Mom and I were both at fault.”
Shane’s angry scowl and the look in his eyes are dangerous. I recognize the expression from the night he put Todd and Daniel in their place for threatening me. “You were a little girl, Avery. Six, right?Nothingwas your fault.”
“No, I know. But logic isn’t an effective shield.”
“What did he say? Specifically?”
My throat grows tight, and my eyes burn. “Nothing I care to repeat.” I realize my hands are crumpling the fabric of my hem and release it. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. I was six. The memories are just fragments of rage and disappointment.” I draw in a breath through pursed lips. “So, yeah, that was heartbreaking. And right afterward, he took an out-of-state job, so I never saw him in person again.”
“He didn’t even come to say goodbye?”
“No. After that incident, my mom sued for full custody and tried to file a restraining order, so he just washed his hands of us.”
Shane’s eyes are still on the road, but they narrow to slits. “Parents are immature assholes sometimes. They should really grow the fuck up before they have kids.” His thumb taps the steering wheel. “I’m sorry that happened to you, and that you felt compelled to make yourself up like a pageant queen for the frat party.” He shakes his head, and I can tell he’s angry now with himself. “I’ll never put pressure on you to look a certain way again. You have my word.”
I love that he understands. He’s unflappable, so I didn’t expect him to be able to. In some ways, Shane really is perfect for me. Pulling slack into the seat belt, I lean over to kiss his cheek. Fortunately, I catch myself in time and stop before I do.
Christ. No kissing.
You accused him of being a hypocrite. Don’t be one yourself.
Leaning back into my seat, I say softly, “Thank you for understanding.”
And if you expect this brunch to work, Avery, you’d better not act as if you’re at a funeral. Get your game face on.
Injecting a little sass into my voice, I say, “That’s quite a sacrifice you’re offering to make. I’m surprised.”
“You overestimate the value I put on beaded gowns and fake eyelashes, Avery. You’re at your most beautiful without makeup. Right out of the shower or in my bed completely naked, that’s what I’d have a hard time giving up.”
Heat washes over me. “The ball gown and pageant makeup weren’t actually what I meant. Won’t it be a sacrifice to refrain from making impromptu spa appointments to have your little pet waxed?”
His head cocks, and he glances over at me with a small smirk. “Hang on. Don’t conflate getting your pussy waxed with putting on false eyelashes for a frat party. Those don’t belong in the same category of grooming.”
My laughter is partly from amusement and partly from relief that I’ve been able to insert a little levity into our difficult morning. “If there’s a loophole, you’ll find it, huh?”
“Pretty much.” His tone is remorseless, which, in the moment, actually feels reassuring. For better or for worse, Shane is decisive and consistent. Unlike a lot of people I’ve known, he doesn’t waffle. When he promises me he won’t pressure me to wear a formal gown again, I believe him.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, but the earlier tension is gone.
The upscale restaurant our parents have chosen for brunch is lovely. White linen napkins fashioned into blooming flowers are center stage in the waiting place settings.
Our table is next to the stone fireplace, which glows with burning embers. Ethan and Mom both stand to greet us.
