Page 96 of The Tower

“Something on your mind?” A grin tugs at his mouth—and that very biteable lip.

“Nope,” I say, all sunshine and innocence.

It occurs to me that if I get him riled up enough, I may be able to circumvent that begging edict. At the very least, the attempt could be fun. And if I succeed, the reward would be very much worth it.

I step closer, pressing my body against his, my hands cupping his ass despite the fact that the invited press is undoubtedly eating this up. “And you?” I ask. “Is something on your mind?”

“So many things,” he says, bending to whisper in my ear.

“Tell me.”

He pulls back enough so that I can look into those incredible eyes. Then, with deliberate slowness, he says, “Cake.”

I blink, completely confused. “Cake?’

He steps back, breaking my connection with his ass, but taking my hand.

“I see cake.” He nods toward a dessert table laden with architectural confections that seem too beautiful to eat—multi-tiered masterpieces crafted by pastry chefs flown in from Paris, adorned with edible gold leaf and sugar flowers so realistic they seem to bloom under the starlight. “You mentioned you were rarely allowed sweets.”

He’d been leading me that direction, but now I pull him to a stop. “You remembered.”

“Of course,” he says, completely nonchalant.

I smile, touched that he’d think of that. “Models don’t eat cake. That rule was practically tattooed on my forehead growing up.”

“You’re not just a model anymore,” he says as we continue toward the table. “You’re a woman making her own choices.”

My own choices. The phrase sends a thrill through me, hot and bright as lightning. Such a simple concept, and yet so foreign to my experience. Choice has never been part of my reality—not my clothes, not my career, not even what I put in my body. Everything decided by my father, packaged and presented as concern for my well-being.

We’re halfway to the dessert table when a familiar voice cuts through the ambient chatter.

“Sasha! There you are!”

Ruby’s arms are around me before I can respond, her embrace fierce and familiar. She pulls back, her eyes traveling over me as if checking for visible damage. She glances at Grimm, then narrows her eyes. “You know I’m like a sister to her,” she says to him, indicating her dress—which is actually mine. “You can tell because I have access to her closet. So if you pull any a-hole sort of tricks, I will make sure you regret it.”

I see the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes, but otherwise, Grimm’s face is completely serious. “I’d expect no less from her best friend.”

She looks at me. “He knows that?”

I lift a shoulder. “Somehow, he knows everything.”

“And he’s really not being an ass to you?”

She knows from our Elysium conversations that he’s not, but all I say is, “He’s the poster boy for good manners.”

She scowls, then cocks her head toward where Leo is holding court across the roof. “The same cannot be said for Leo Grimm. So,” she adds, crossing her arms and putting on her Do Not Fuck With Me face, “can you tell your jerk of a little brother to stay away from me?”

A shadow crosses Grimm’s features. “He’s been harassing you?”

Ruby lifts a shoulder. “Let’s go with pestering. But I don’t want to be around that guy. You keep him off me, and I’ll jump on the Rah-Rah Liam cart. And I’ve got pull with this one,” she adds nodding her head toward me.

Liam catches my eye, and I see the amusement in his. Along with a bolus of irritation that I realize is meant for Leo and not Ruby.

“I will,” he says. “You have my word.”

“Oh,” she says, clearly expecting she’d have to put on the hard sell. “Thanks. So, can I borrow her for a bit?”

I catch his eye, and we share a quick grin before Ruby drags me to a quiet corner. Immediately, I pull her into a hug.