Page 103 of Beloved Beauty

Magnolia glances at me, her smile lopsided, something unreadable flickering in her eyes.

We pull up in front of Elias’s townhouse, the porch light casting a warm halo over the steps. He’s already coming down them barefoot, in sweats and a white T-shirt, looking equal parts amused and concerned. His gaze flicks to the back seat, where Violet lies slumped like a rag doll, one arm flung over her face.

“You ordered one drunk American who’s in love with you?”

Magnolia smacks my arm. “She said don’t tell him.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “What the hell happened to her?”

“Tequila,” Magnolia says, deadpan. “Lots of it. And lemon bars.”

He laughs under his breath, reaching for the door. “Tequila and lemon bars. Great. At least I’ll know what I’m looking at later.”

Violet stirs, peeling her cheek off the leather seat. “Eliasss,” she says, reaching for him with all the grace of a drunk wombat. “I want to climb you and make bad decisions.”

“Okay, babe. I think we should get you to bed.”

She stands and wraps her arms around his neck, using him to steady herself. “You look like husband material and birth-control failure all wrapped in one tall, devastating package. It’s upsetting how into it I am.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Husband material and birth-control failure, huh? Is that code for you want to marry me and have babies?”

She pulls my brother’s face down to hers. “Elias, I want to be your baby mama.”

He leans in, voice low. “Careful, Violet, before I take you seriously. You could wake up with a ring and a stroller.”

She kisses him hard. “Take me inside and don’t let me eat cereal in the bathtub.”

“Okay, champ.” He throws a nod my way. “Appreciate the drop-off.”

“Anytime,” I say. “Good luck.”

I glance at Magnolia. She’s curled sideways in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her, dipping a cracker into a little plastic container of leftover cheese dip.

She licks some from her finger and sighs, blissed out. “Why is this dip so damn good? I swear I’d fight a raccoon for it.”

I laugh under my breath. “It’s a good thing we don’t have raccoons in Australia.”

I look at her, really look. Her cheeks are still flushed, her hair a little wild from the wind and tequila. And I think—God, I love her this way.

Soft. Unfiltered. Mine.

She stumbles into the house with my help, giggling as she misses the step. I catch her, one arm around her waist. “Watch it, favorite.”

“I’m fine,” she says, dropping her shoes by the door. “Just gravity being aggressive.”

It’s late, so I don’t bother with lights or the couch. I take my tanked wife straight to the bedroom.

I fall onto the bed with a groan while she does her thing in the bathroom.

“God, my back’s shot. I pushed too hard tonight.”

“You were working out while I was gone?”

“Babe, I’m always working out, trying to get back to where I was three years ago. Season’s coming.”

She comes out of the bathroom, hair tousled, that teasing smile in place. “You’re in ridiculous shape. You could bench press a horse.”

“You didn’t see me three years ago.”

---