Page 126 of The Sweetest Return

“Something real. With vegetables. And sauce. And bread.”

“Good bread?”

“Obviously.”

His smile deepened, but he did not drag the conversation out. He ordered like food was the entire reason we were upstairs, then set the tablet aside and gave me a look that made the suite feel smaller.

“You can shower if you want,” he said. “Food’ll take a minute.”

“I can go downstairs and shower in my own room.”

“You can.” His eyes stayed on mine. “But you won’t come back.”

The accuracy irritated me.

“I don’t have anything to wear.”

Dre disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a robe. Thick. White. Absurdly soft even before I touched it.

I stared at it. “This is not yours.”

“It belongs to the suite.”

“It looks like it belongs to a woman who owns a yacht.”

“Then pretend.”

I took it from him, and his fingers brushed mine during the handoff.

Neither of us moved for a second.

“I’m still not trying anything,” he said.

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep looking at me like you don’t believe it.”

“I don’t.”

His mouth curved. “I’m being good, Imani.”

“Right now,” I added.

The heat that entered his eyes made me regret and appreciate myself at the same time.

“Right now,” he repeated.

I went into the bathroom before I started making decisions while wearing boots that had carried me through an entire football game.

The shower was luxury layered over luxury. Black marble, glass, towels thick enough to qualify as bedding, and water pressure that suggested somebody had asked women what they needed and actually listened. I stood beneath the spray long enough to wash away stadium heat, tailgate smoke, makeup, perfume, and the last bit of composure still pretending to belong to me.

It did not help.

I dried slowly, more nervous than I wanted to admit.

The robe swallowed me whole, falling past my knees and wrapping around me like The Nocturne had mistaken me for somebody’s wealthy widow. I tied it tight anyway, then reached for the hotel lotion because nerves were one thing, but ash was where I drew the line.

The lotion was thick and faintly scented, expensive in that quiet way everything in Dre’s suite seemed to be. I smoothed it over my arms first, then my legs, taking more time than necessary because my hands needed something to do besides tremble. When I stood in front of the mirror, the robe had loosened just enough to show the curve of my breasts, the glow of my skin, the soft fullness of my body beneath all that white cotton.