Page 51 of The Dragon’s Good Girl

I came here tonight because I missed him.

I put my hand on the gearstick. I could leave. Reverse out of the space, drive home and have the breakdown somewhere private, where Tess can bring wine and sit beside me without saying I told you so. She wouldn't, either. That's the worst part. She'd take one look at my face, climb onto the sofa beside me and let me be miserable about the man I've paid to see a few times.

But leaving means I'll never know whether I was right.

I've spent too much of my life deciding what other people mean without making them say it. I'm not doing that again.

So I turn off the engine.

For a moment, I sit there looking down at myself. Jeans, a plain sweater, barely any makeup. I hadn't dressed for him tonight the way I did last time, and right now I'm grateful for it. There's something humiliating about imagining myself standing in front of the mirror choosing another dress while Soren was upstairs doing for someone else all the things I'd started believing were ours.

Fine. Whatever.

If this is a service, then I can treat it like one.

I get out of the car and walk inside.

Something feels different before Soren says a word.

He isn't waiting in the doorway when I reach the room. He's farther inside, standing near the windows with his hands at his sides, and when he turns toward me, his eyes are already burning.

Not their usual warm gold, the one I've almost stopped noticing. Not a flash of dragon that disappears once he gets himself under control.

Molten. Lit from inside, pupils slitted to knife-cuts—his dragon sitting right at the surface.

"Margot."

The way he says my name nearly ruins the anger I spent the walk upstairs holding onto.

Nearly.

I close the door behind me but stay beside it. "Hi."

His gaze moves over my face, and whatever he sees there makes his brow furrow. "Is something wrong?"

The question almost makes me laugh. "I'm fine."

He clearly doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push. "Before we do anything tonight, there's something I need to tell you."

My stomach tightens. Of course there is. "Okay."

For once, Soren seems to have trouble finding the words. "I've been doing this work for a very long time, Margot. I know how to keep what I want separate from what a client needs from me, and until you, I've never had a problem doing it."

Some of the anger I carried upstairs falters, allowing something far more dangerous to slip through.

He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it and leaves the distance between us intact. "The flowers last week weren't something I do for clients, and neither was dinner. I remembered what you told me about your grandmother, saw the peonies and wanted you to have them. I cooked because I wanted to cook again for you. And when I walked you to your car, it was because every instinct I had was telling me not to let you leave, and walking beside you was the only part of that instinct I was willing to indulge."

My throat tightens. These are the answers I wanted before I ever knew I was asking the questions, and hearing them now should make everything that happened in the parking lot disappear.

It doesn't.

"And Angel?" I ask.

His expression changes, and there it is again: the same flicker of surprise I caught the first time the name slipped out, except this time he doesn't try to hide it.

"No," he says quietly. "I don't call anyone else that."

I should feel relieved.