But the serotonin from it doesn’t last. Doesn’t even seem to exist anymore.
Reaching out, I put my hand on top of the pile. The cashier pauses, cocking her head in confusion. “On second thought…” I say, swallowing down the nerves that surge into my throat. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any of this.”
She blinks. Hesitates. Looks me up and down, before frowning. “You don’t want to complete the purchase?”
I can’t blame her; I’ve never left a store without something in hand.
“Well, I left my wallet at home.”
Her eyes fall to the vegan leather clutch hanging off my shoulder. “What about credit? I’m sure the owner would vouch for you.”
“That’s okay.” Shaking my head, I take a step away, narrowly avoiding bumping into the man behind me. I certainly don’t need them billing Daddy right now. “Maybe I’ll come back later.”
“Uh… okay.” She stares at the pile of clothes and other random items. “Do you want me to—”
Not sticking around to hear the rest of her question, I bolt from the store, colliding with Jonas’s sturdy chest the second my feet cross the threshold.
“Whoa, love, where’s the fire?”
His hands find my biceps, goose bumps popping up beneath his touch, and I jerk back to tug at the hem of my skirt. “No fire. Just… overheated inside, a little. One thing you can’t thrift is air conditioning, I guess.”
My forced laugh does little to change the look of suspicion on his face.
“Right.” He releases me, looking down at my empty hands. “You didn’t get anything?”
“No, I was just looking.”
His frown deepens. “I thought I saw you with your arms full.”
How long had he been at the window?
I shrug, feigning innocence. “Must’ve been someone else.”
For several erratic beats of my heart, Jonas just stares down at me, those violet eyes searing a path straight to my soul.
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I resist the urge to confide in him, knowing that’s not what this arrangement is about.
We’re on a need-to-know basis. Even that seems to have its limits.
“I reject the notion that I’d notice anyone but you,” he says quietly, piercing my heart with the tenderness of his words.
“Where’s the fire?”
Right fucking here. Can’t he feel it?
My brows furrow, confusion and lust etching themselves into my brain. The feeling grows when he slides his hand down my arm, locking our fingers together as he begins tugging me down the street.
Disbelief colors my features, muddying my thoughts as he drags me along. I can’t stop looking at where we’re connected, trying not to let my heart beat too heavily.
Finally, I steal a glance around, noting the photographer stationed by the bushes at the corner of the street. His attention is on us, documenting our every move, and the little thrill from before deflates into nothingness all over again.
I want to kick myself for entertaining anything beyond our contractual duties.
The two kisses we’ve shared have clearly fucked with me, and my long-buried desires are making everything look like more.
But Jonas isn’t capable of more, and he’s made that evident from the beginning.
More doesn’t appeal to me, anyway. That’s not why I’m here.
He drops me off at the house a little bit later before speeding off to “take care of shit,” and I busy myself with some sketches. Palmer calls a couple hours after I get home, and I take a towel outside and stretch out in the sand while he peppers me with questions.
“But you’re coming to brunch tomorrow, right?” my brother asks, and I hear his boyfriend shout something in the background. “Even I got an invite, and we both know Mama and Daddy don’t ask me to come to anything.”
Cringing, I reach up to untie the strings of my bikini top, letting the warm sunrays beat down on my back. “I hate to say it, but that feels like a trap.”
“Of course, it is. But you can’t deny that it’ll be exciting.”
“Exciting is definitely one word for it.” Rolling my head to the other side, I gasp as a figure down the beach appears in my peripheral.
Sitting up, I cover my breasts with my forearm, squinting into the distance.
“What? What happened, swan? Are you okay?”
Palmer’s voice barely reaches my ears as I stare out, unease notching at my sternum. The shore is empty, practically a ghost town, but I swear I saw someone.
Clearing my throat, I brush it off. My mind has been known to play tricks on me, so maybe that’s all this was.
Maybe someone from the farmers’ market got lost, or a tourist stopped to wet their feet.
“I’m fine,” I tell my brother, even though the tightness in my chest indicates otherwise.
I used to see things a lot more often. Shadowy, malignant figures everywhere I turned, waiting to push me down and force themselves on me no matter how many times I screamed no.
For a while, it was difficult to even leave my bedroom. The nightmares were frequent, forcing me to relive that night over and over. To expect it every time I came into contact with someone.
That’s why I went to Vermont. A fresh start.
To get away from the trauma.
I thought I’d moved on.
The attack at Daddy’s party weeks ago should’ve been my first indication, though, that I haven’t. Not fully, anyway.
I didn’t even flinch when I killed Preston’s friend.
Someone who’s doing well would have likely had a different, more appropriate reaction.
Sighing, I let Palmer ramble about past events for a while, using his voice as a balm to my nerves. Eventually, I tell him I need to get a shower, and he grumbles but lets me go anyway, making me promise to text him when we’ve left in the morning.
My lungs compress as I get to the top of the stairs, a sob catching in my chest. It bubbles, refusing to come out, and I cover my mouth with my hand until I make it to the bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door swings open, and I freeze in place.
A pile of shopping bags sits on the floor in front of the bed, their handles twisted together. Stepping closer, I scowl, recognizing the thrift shop’s logo on the reusable packaging.
Pulling the first one apart, I see the pink crystal swan from earlier, and my heart thumps loud against my ribs.
Reaching into another bag, I pull out the fuzzy socks I had in hand at the checkout counter. A cashmere sweater, a porcelain tea set with lilies painted around the rim of the cups.
Everything I had at the store but chose not to buy.
My throat constricts, and I put the items back, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
One thing’s for certain: if no one else, Jonas is watching.
Paying attention.
For some reason, I find that as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
17
The water morphs into a reddish brown as it pools at my feet, disappearing into the shower drain. Turning around to brace my hands on the wall, I let the harsh spray work over my tired muscles, massaging out the kinks that come with a labor career.
I reach over my shoulder, pressing down on a particularly stubborn knot caused by Sergeant Gonzalez’s nightstick, another name I’ve crossed off the list after questioning turned to retaliation.