My body. My heart. My soul.
“Did he hurt you?” He rubs his hand down my back, and I want him to keep it there forever.
I hate this roller coaster of emotions, which makes no sense while it makes all the sense in the world.
“No, just scared me.”
“Let’s get out of here. The stench is nauseating.”
I nod and let him hold my hand, leading us out of there. As I try to hold my skirt up with my other hand, I see the tear is huge.
“God, this dress is a rental. It’s going to cost a fortune.”
We reach the street, and I snatch my hand fromhis. As comforting as it felt, I don’t want him to think the issue is resolved.
Xander reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands me a small golden card. A credit card.
When I don’t reach for it, because what the fuck, he sighs. “It’s yours.” He shoves it into my hand.
I blink at my name embossed on the golden card, and my anger returns full speed. “I’ve just found out about your betrayal, and now you hand me a credit card? Is that your solution to everything? Just throwing money at your problems.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” he snaps. Then he sighs again, shaking his head. “Fuck. That’s not what I… I had this issued for you before we left New York. I just didn’t get a chance to give it to you.”
“And you pick this moment. You’re impossible.”
“I didn’t want you to worry about the dress, besides everything else…” He looks away.
Jesus. This man, with his well-intended, fucked-up gestures.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. This started with you throwing a wad of cash at me.”
He flinches, but doesn’t respond.
Vibrating, he paces a few feet forward before he turns back, the nervous energy radiating from him.
“Fuck, when I heard your scream, I… I…” He takes holdof my shoulders and just stares at me, scanning me for injuries, or perhaps memorizing me.
His frown and wild gaze, full of anguish, have a direct line to my heart. But it’s his fault we both feel like shit right now.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he breathes out, and steps closer, but then stops himself and lets out another loaded breath.
Despite my shock and bitterness, I want to reach out for him. But I hold back, because trust is earned, and he has stomped all over mine.
He pulls out his phone and starts texting. “I’m having the car come around for us.”
“I’m not getting into a car with you.” I lift the ruined dress and start marching, as if I know where I’m going.
“Cora,” he growls. “If you don’t get in the car with me, then what? We will do it here and now?”
I whip around, glaring. “Do what?”
“Talk.”
I put my hands on my hips. Is he for real? “A bit too late for that.”
“Cora.” He sighs again.
He dares to sigh again.
