Page 65 of Habits

Anewred dress.

No way in hell I’d put that fluffy, girly monstrosity on myself and wear it to bed, much less in public.

If I had to play Cinderella for the night, at least I’d do it on my own terms.

So I ignored the fact that I hate shopping, dressing up and dresses in general, and went to buy myself something I actually like.

It took a while, but in the end I found it. A dress I not only like but feel confident in. Instead of typical red, I choose a deep burgundy color. It drapes into a front tier and transitions into cape sleeves that trail out at the back alongside the sheath skirt. The front looks pretty modest, that is until I turn my back, which is completely bare.

Arranging my locks one last time, I call it quits.

Bypassing the full-length mirror, I close the bathroom door behind me, slip into simple black stilettos and take my clutch off the bed.

When I shut the door, I see Max doing the same on the other side of the hall.

His gray eyes swipe from the tips of my shiny heels to the top of my head.

“You look beautiful.”

Smiling, I take him in. He’s wearing a two-piece black suit, a crisp white dress shirt with a burgundy tie that matches my dress. I can’t have my date looking sloppy.

“You clean up nice, too.”

He chuckles, looping our elbows together. United front for tonight.

“No date?”

“Who would I bring?”

There is no amusement in his tone. As far as I know, the closest he came to hooking up since we moved to Greyford is Lia, and we all know how that turned out. And then there is Brook. You have to be blind not to feel the tension between the two of them. The only thing I’m not sure about is if it’s chemistry that sparks between them or plain frustration for having to share the same air.

“I’m sure you’d have foundsomeone.” My insinuation is clear and he knows it, but ignores me, shaking his head.

“And bring thatsomeoneinto the crazy that is our family? Yeah, right.”

“I was just saying.” I shrug.

“What about your date?” he counters. The look he gives me is more than enough for me to understand to whom he’s referring.

“That was a one-time thing,” I grit, my shoulders tensing.

“I really hope so.”

“He’s notthatbad.”

“He’s bad enough, Anette,” Max contradicts, turning toward me. “I don’t want you to get hurt again. And although I like the guy, he’s n…”

“Not the guy for me,” I interrupt him, suddenly sick of this conversation. “Too damaged. I know, Max. I know.”

Why does it seem that all we do lately is fight, fight, fight?

Once we were one being, one person. We couldn’t spend five minutes apart. Now on some days we barely tolerate each other. When did it change?Whydid it change?

Before more questions form in my mind, I dismiss them.

I knowwhen. I knowwhy.

There is no sense in opening old wounds.

---