“Fix that,” I pointed. “Adesso.”
I hated the dress, but at present, she’d claw me if I made something of it. We didn’t have time to waste.
She tucked herself in, fixing what looked like tape or something to keep her breast in place.
“Where are we?” She stuck her chin up, clearly perturbed close to the point of mad fury. Her cheeks were darker than the dress she wore.
I opened the door to the room for her, and she glared at me before she stepped inside. Even in a temper, she couldn’t deny her curious nature.
The space was antique French with exposed brick walls, gold and white chipped paint, wood flooring, a chandelier, and not much else. Mitch stood on the opposite side of the room, his band and their instruments surrounding him. The lights were dimmed, and a chair had been placed directly in front of a microphone.
A wary look came over Scarlett’s face. She crossed her arms, giving him nothing less than a mean look. “What are you doing here?”
Mitch’s head moved back, his eyes lowering, clearly stung by her reaction. He opened his arms as if to say, what did I do? Instead of continuing the rude behavior, she threw herself at him, almost knocking him over.
“Whoa. Whoa.” He said softly, enveloping her in his arms, patting her. “I’m breakable now. I’m not as tough as I used to be.” Still, he held her even tighter. “I missed you too, kid.”
She pulled away, sliding her hands along his face. “Mitch.” She smiled through tears. “Look at you. You have an earring in your eyebrow now!”
“I have more than that.” He winked.
I cleared my throat, but it came out more like a low growl.
She laughed, the sound shaky. “I bet you do.”
“You’re just as hot as ever. A bit starved, but not emaciated. I’m proud of you, kid.”
A look passed between the two. I wasn’t sure what it was, or if I liked it all that much. Whatever he meant by her looking starved but not emaciated meant something to the both of them.
“What are you doing here?” she said again, this time truly curious. “I thought you were terrified to fly.”
“No doubt about it, nothing’s changed there. I’m never going back home.”
This garnered another laugh from her.
“I said some things that I didn’t mean, kid. I owed your husband-to-be—”
She snorted, a sound that was still graceful coming from her, and I clenched my fists.
“—a favor,” he said. “Here I am.”
“Here you are.” She sighed. “It’s good to see you, Mitch. You have no idea how good.”
“Damn, Brando. What did you do to this poor girl? No one is ever glad to see me. And all of a sudden I’m the prodigal that has stepped foot in Paris.”
I shrugged.
Taking a step back, she crossed her arms again. “Mitch, what am I doing here?”
“You need to ask your husband-to-be.”
“No,” she said. “You tell me.”
Mitch looked between the two of us before the question settled on me. I nodded, finding a stool to settle on.
“Brando asked me to come here because he wrote something for you—a song—and I’m just here to sing it for him. So, if you’d please—” He used his chin to motion to the chair before him.
Her chin tilted up higher. “I don’t want to.”
