I abandoned Roman’sgiftto search the racks for alternatives.
“Are you joining the auction?” I asked Maisy.
“Of course. It’s for charity,andit’s going to be hot as fuck. Win-win.”
I opened my mouth to ask her if she thought the charity part of the event was in poor taste, but her answer seemed clear. Maisy was not a true ally in my critical analysis or my subterfuge.
I missed Wes—I missed him against my will. Didheknow about the auction? Was that why he was being so damn protective?
It was getting harder and harder to pretend whatever the hell was happening between us wasfriendly.But it didn’t matter. Chemistry wasn’t enough. He’d made his intentions clear, multiple times, and I refused to give any piece of my heart to someone who didn’t want it.
“What are you doing, Nova?” Maisy asked with a sigh.
I hadn’t realized I’d been glaring at the blameless articles of clothing as I angrily parsed through the current rack.
“I can’t accept that outfit. It’s probably worth more than a year’s worth of rent. Or way more than that,” I muttered, having no grasp of the economy of wealthy people’s clothing.
“You know, youcanjust let things be easy,” Maisy scolded. “You’re not a better person for choosing the more difficult path out of spite or pride or whatever. You’re allowed to have fun. To relax. To use a man’s credit card when it’s handed to you on a golden platter.”
“I don’t—” I took a breath, stepping away from the rack while holding the most conservative set I could scrounge together. “I’m not trying to be difficult, and I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I don’t want to owe anyone anything. And I don’t want someone else’s success. I want my own.”
Maisy nodded, her features softening. “You’re in your masculine, I totally get it.”
I suppressed a frustrated groan. Not this shit again.
“You’ve been in survival mode for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked.
My spine straightened with a burst of defensiveness. She had no fucking idea what I’d survived. None of them did.
No one except Lorelei.
“I grew up in foster care,” Maisy said. “I raised myself, along with my three younger siblings. We never knew a stable home.”
Empathy softened my anger, seeing Maisy in a new light.
“You’re not alone. Or, at least, you don’t have to be.” She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, as Jayne often did. “Your nervous system is wired for danger. I bet it’s hard to relax, right? It makes you feel vulnerable? If you’re not in motion, walking quickly, working long hours—even over the weekends, setting big goals, punishing yourself when you don’t meet them…”
Nope. Not me. That didn’t sound like me at all.
“… then you’d have to face yourself. You’d have to feel the discomfort of a body in fight-or-flight, always ready for the next breach of your safety.” Maisy smiled knowingly. “That used to be me too, before I met Jayne and Archer. You can heal, Nova. Youdeservefor things to be easy for once.”
There was no way in hell my eyes were burning right now.Hold it together, Nova.
She’d triggered a part of me that responded like a wounded, feral animal backed into a corner. I wanted to be angry, but instead, I was exhausted and raw.
Exhausted from the non-stop grind, the always looking over my shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Iwastired of everything being so fucking hard all the time.
“Take the outfit and return it to him after. Win-win.” She winked. “Come on, we’re getting massages and then eating omakase in the dining room with a private chef.”
“No weird men?” I asked suspiciously.
She grabbed my hand. “No. Girls only.” She placed my backup option back on the rack with a smile and pulled me away from the clothing. “Someone will box up our choices for us and give them back on our way out.”
Interesting. I didn’t remember being given a choice.
When we entered the room with massage tables, there weren’t any pregnant sister wives, but there were three beautiful women—Jayne and two others I possibly recognized from the first soiree—along with the same number of masseuses.
“Girls’ night,” one of the women squealed, greeting Maisy with la bise.
