Mom’s expression shifts with distaste. “Ugh, that woman.”
“I know,” I murmur in agreement. “She’ll never be my favorite person, either. Hunter still loves her, of course, but I actually think his time in Italy gave him a lot more perspective than he had when he left.”
“Not being 14 also helps with that,” Mom puts in lightly. “I get what you’re saying, though, he seems like a sharp kid.”
“He is. He’s a fast learner—almost too quick. I’ve thrown him a lot of curveballs this year, he’s found a way around every one of them.”
Mom smiles faintly. “Whatever else I’ll say about Hunter, he’s certainly devoted.”
“He’s like an indestructible heat-seeking missile. Once he locks onto his target, he’ll blow through whatever he has to in order to get to it.”
“Things are going well between you, though?” she questions. “You’re happy?”
I look back at her with a smile as I help guide the cart into the checkout lane. “Oh yeah, things are great. We’re both really happy.”
Mom smiles. “Good.”
___
Even though it’s Sunday and that’s supposed to be Mom’s day—she has taken a page from Hunter’s playbook and demanded one day a week when she knows I’ll be available to her—I drive over to Hunter’s house after shopping to show him the gown I picked out.
He’s coming over for family dinner tonight, anyway. We’re cooking, so I told Mom I’d go pick him up and show him the dress while I’m at it so he knows what it looks like when he’s planning his own outfit for the ball.
The dress I bought is absolutely gorgeous. It’s a blue off-the-shoulder ballgown fashioned out of this beautiful, shimmery satin. I love the way the fabric sways when I walk. To make it sway even more dramatically, I sashay into Hunter’s bedroom once I’ve changed into it.
The fabric feels great against my skin, but what feels better is the way Hunter’s face lights up at the sight of me. The slow smile on his beautiful lips, the affectionate gleam in his gorgeous eyes.
“Wow,” he says.
I can’t help grinning. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” He sits forward and reaches for me.
As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, I step forward so he can grab my hips and pull me closer to his perch on the edge of the bed.
“Damn,” he says, shaking his head. His gaze travels the length of the gown, taking in my bare shoulders. One hand drops from my hips so he can run it down the soft fabric against my left leg, and when he does, he finds the sexy split that leaves my leg exposed all the way to the middle of my thigh.
“It’s not too high, is it?” I ask.
“No.” He slides his hand beneath the fabric and squeezes my thigh. He looks up at me, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “This is going to make it very hard for me to behave myself while we’re at the gala. You realize that, right?”
Smiling down at him, I reach out and caress his jawline. “It’s good for you to experience hardship every now and again. It builds character.”
Hunter wraps his arms around my hips, dragging me close and lightly squeezing me. “I’ll show you ‘builds character.’”
“Don’t you dare pull me onto this bed, Hunter Maxwell,” I say, since I know that’s coming next. “If you wrinkle my dress, I’ll be so mad at you.”
Growling in faint annoyance at having to wait to play with me, he grabs my hips and spins me around. “I guess I’d better take it off you then, huh?”
I move my hair aside so he has better access to the zipper. “You like it, though? It’s good enough for the function? I’ve never shopped for anything like this, so I wasn’t sure.”
“It’s perfect,” he assures me. “You look like a princess.”
I beam and glance back at him. “That’s what I was going for. Mom, too. She was trying to convince me to buy a tiara because she’s a crazy person.”
Hunter smirks, his gaze on my back as he drags down the zipper and exposes more and more of my bare skin. “She’s gonna love your wedding look then,” he remarks.
My eyes widen slightly and I look back at him. “What?”
My dress is open now, so he lets it go. I let the fabric drop gently and step out of it, careful not to wrinkle it too much as I do.
Hunter leans back with his palms braced on the mattress. I feel his appreciative gaze rake over me now that I’m standing here in only my panties. “My family has a collection of jewels.”
I nod. Given what I know about his family, that’s not surprising.
But then he goes on, “There are a couple of diadems that brides typically wear on their wedding day.”
I freeze on my way to hang up the dress. “Diadems?”
“Crowns.”
“I know what a diadem is.” I blink. “Your family has crowns.”
Amusement tugs at his lips. “Yes. When we get married, you’ll wear one to keep with tradition. There are a couple you can choose from. I think I have pictures, actually,” he adds, shifting so he can pull his phone out of his pocket.
I’m not sure about this wedding business, or this crown business, but I am intrigued. “Italy pictures?”
Hunter nods. “Wanna see?”
I sure do. I hastily hang up my dress in his walk-in closet since it’ll be safer there than stashed in my much smaller one, then I hurry back out and climb into bed with him.
I’m excited to actually see pictures of his time in Italy. I saw the ones on his Instagram and Hunter has told me stories about his time there, but he hasn’t shown me his personal photos before.
Now he lies in his bed scrolling through his camera roll, one arm bent with his hand behind his head. I snuggle up close and rest my head on his bicep, so he moves his hand and wraps it around me instead to keep me close.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He stops scrolling. “What?”
I reach over and tap a picture. It’s a pretty brunette with big sunglasses lying on a pool float, sipping a beverage and making a face at him. The face she makes is the goofy kind you’d only make with someone you were super comfortable with.
My heart contracts, my stomach dropping. I knew Hunter had physical experiences with girls when he lived in Italy, but I never thought he’d forged any kind of close connection with any of them. Certainly not the affectionate familiarity I pick up on in this shot.
And he kept it.
Sure, it has probably been a while since he scrolled through these pictures, but the thought that he wanted to keep that memory of some other girl… it makes my heart ache.
I swallow, tempted to pull away from him.
Before I can, he says, “That’s Vittoria.”
Vittoria. Even her name is lovely. “She’s very pretty,” I murmur.
Hunter glances over at me. His face is etched with light amusement, but I don’t find it very funny. “She is,” he agrees.
My face reacts before I can stop it. Shooting him a dirty look, my tone much less pleasant, I ask, “Was she one of your model friends?”
Hunter smirks, his eyes glinting with mirth as he pulls me closer. “She’s my sister,” he informs me.