Her ruby red lips spread into a brilliant smile as she preened dramatically. “Why, thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Was that a compliment? From you?” I joked, yearning to lighten the tension coiling in my chest.
“I can play nice, if you can.”
“Oh, princess. I can play very,verynice.” And now the tension was back…but lower.
“I bet,” she purred, but quickly shook it off. “But we have a gala to attend.”
“Of course. I meant, being nice at the gala,” I said, ignoring my own insinuation.
She snorted and collected her purse and another small item from the cream comforter. She turned back to me with lips rolled between her teeth and hesitated to meet my gaze, switching her balance from one leg to another. I furrowed my brow, wondering what brought on the sudden show of nerves.
“So, I know we said it as just a joke, but I figured why not?” she explained, laughing nervously. “So, yeah. I-umm-got you this.” She thrust out her hand, clutching a black silk rose with a diamond leaf attached to a pin.
The sight of the boutonniere triggered a laugh that rose from deep in my chest. Aspen snatched her offering back, misunderstanding my reaction, and I rushed to clarify. “Oh, no. I love it. It’s just that…” I extended my hand with the long velvet box. “I guess we’re more alike than we thought.”
Her mouth formed the perfect oh. I desperately wanted to rub my thumb across the plump curve before sliding inside and ordering her to suck. With Herculean control, I restrainedmyself and cracked the box open. “It’s not quite a corsage, but I thought it would do.”
“Oh, my god. Lucian,” she gasped.
We both stared at the sparkling diamond leaves clustered together on a platinum rope bracelet. Her joke about picking her up for prom with flowers stuck with me, and I couldn’t help but play along. It was an unexpected treat to discover she played along too.
“It’s stunning.” She laughed. “And all I got you was a fake flower with fake diamonds.”
“Gasp,” I mocked, holding my hand to my chest. “You didn’t even splurge for real diamonds? I’m not sure I can go with you anymore.”
I moved to step away when she snatched the box from my hand and glared playfully. “No takesies-backsies.”
I cocked my head and laughed. “Takesies? Backsies?”
“It’s a thing,” she defended seriously. “Now help me put this on before we’re late.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I focused on fastening the jewelry around her slim wrist, sneaking glances as her pursed lips slowly softened into a smile that sent a warm ache blooming in my chest.
We arrivedten minutes after the event started. Aspen called it fashionably late, even though I knew she’d been here all day, making sure everything was set up just right. When I walked in, I couldn’t believe what she’d accomplished.
People dressed in their finest mingled on the black-and-white checkered floor among cocktail tables draped in heavy black tablecloths, while the waitstaff in tuxedos floated through with hors d’oeuvres and champagne. The room sparkled withgolden light and cream accents, creating a magical wonderland where the rich came to play and spend their money for a good cause. After hearing her on the phone all week, I knew this room was just the beginning. Beyond the sets of double doors lay round tables with peonies and therealfloating candles I’d heard her argue about with the vendor earlier in the week, claiming shewouldnothave fake lights because “they look cheap and did they think she was cheap or did they think she was spending a fortune to raise money for children?”
Needless to say, I had no doubt that I’d find fiery centerpieces when we entered that room. Rules be damned.
My woman got shit done.
My woman?
I faltered over how easily the description formed in my mind, quick to smother it with reason.
It made sense that a swell of pride would inflate my chest, prompting grandiose descriptions after watching her work so hard this week. Add in the conversation I had with her father yesterday at lunch, when he threatened me in the most gentlemanly way possible that if I hurt his daughter, he would do whatever it took to exile me from his company.
It was… an interesting conversation that left me with even more doubts about my original assumption that Aspen was a spoiled princess. It left me with the impression that, despite Hank Quinn treating Aspen like a princess, he made her work for every achievement she got.
After our meeting, I spent the evening forcing myself to stay in my home office, repeating the mantra that it didn’t matter what her father said, Aspen was most likely just like other women—just like Daria, a selfish woman, hiding behind lies. And the more I wanted to venture into the living room and see her stomping around our apartment—my apartment—the more I held firm to staying put.
Despite the growing doubts, a part of me knew I had to cling to my prejudices about Aspen.
And all of me knew I didn’t want to look at why.
“Aspen, a stór.”
