“You’re oddly invested in my choice of vocabulary,” I tell him, fighting the urge to squirm in my seat.
“No—” Shaking his head, the smirk curved against the corners of his mouth flatten out just enough to tell me he’s taking this more seriously than I’d like. “I’moddly investedin encouraging you to do and say what you want without worrying about what people are going to think about you.”
“Why?” I ask quietly. “Why do you care?”
“Beats the hell out of me,” he says with a shrug. “Maybe because I’ve spent the last two years watching you let just about everyone in your life pigeon-hole you into being someone I know you’re not and it’s finally starting to irritate me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, looking away with a haughty shrug of my own.
“Yes you do, Mills.” I catch movement in my peripheral, a second before I feel his fingers grip themselves around my chin. Using his hold on me, Dean turns my face toward his, forcing me to look at him. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He’s right.
My whole life, I’ve been obsessed with perception.
The way I’m seen.
The image I project.
As Preston Blackwell’s eldest daughter, I’ve been scrutinized my entire life and until very recently, I’ve been excruciatingly careful about the version of me I allow to be seen.
And maybe I don’t want to be careful anymore.
Maybethat’swhy Dean is here.
Why I ran down that aisle, straight for him. Why I asked him to come with me.
Because when I’m around him, I don’t knowhowto be careful. Because when he’s pushing my buttons and driving me crazy, I forget who I am. Makes it easy for me to be someone else.
It’s not a big deal unless we make it a big deal…
“You’re right.” I admit quietly, my chin quivering slightly in his grip. “Pretending tofuckwhile we’re here would be mutually beneficial.”
“Fuck me, Milkmaid…” Letting go of my chin, Dean eases himself back in his seat, giving me a slow, sexy smile that almost certainly spells disaster. “But that just might be the dirtiest thing a woman has ever said to me.”
THIRTY
Iam absolutely going to regret this.
A few days ago, I agreed to make an effort to bepleasantandcivilfor fuck’s sake, and now here I am, doubling down because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut, any more than I know how to stay away from her—and are you ready for the most fucked-up part of it all?
Every time I look at her, remembering why I should be doing both of those things gets harder and harder.
“Now that that’s settled, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask because I know her. Millie is a planner. She had the entire island mapped out and every day of this trip packed solid with excursions and activities before she even picked out her weddingdress.
Flushing slightly, Millie shakes her head. “I’ve been cancelling the daily excursions because they’re couples activities and I didn’t have anyone to go with.”
Okay, so that makes me feel like shit.
“Well, now you do,” I tell her with a shrug. “What are we doing today?”
“Uhhh…” Shaking her head a little, Millie picks up her phone. Giving the screen a few taps, she chews on her bottom lip, driving me absolutely batshit in the process. “I scheduled snorkeling at eleven o’clock, and then dinner reservations at Davino’s at seven. She gives me a quick smile. “Chef Suzi Bravebird is doing a residency while we’re here. She just earned her first Michelin star.”
Of course there’s a Davino’s here. Davino Fiorella is Wentworth Fiorella’s father and if memory serves, Suzi Bravebird was married to him at some point.
“Davino’s means fancy,” I remind her, trying to remember what was available to wear in the mountain of clothes she had delivered here for Allister.
“There are plenty of appropriate dinner options in the closet. We can even go buy something if you want—my treat.”
