Page 27 of Entangled By You
“Nah. But that thing we were worried about with Mr. Big Shot Mayor? It’s happening.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Why won’t this guy just let it go?”
“Man, it’s his kid. You telling me if Lex or that baby ever goes missing, you're clocking out after a few months?”
“I’d never stop.”
“And that’s what I’ve been worried about all along. Anyway, I’m heading to the clubhouse with Harlow. See you there.”
“Yeah. Be there soon.”
I hang up, exhaling hard through my nose. This night won’t let up. Just one punch after another.
Back inside, I half expect to see Lexi curled up on the couch, something light and funny playing on the TV. But the room is dark and empty, probably for the best. She’s got to be spinning after what I said.
I want to storm down the hall, rip her door off the hinges, and tell her to give me everything right now. I want to take her, claim her, make herseethe life I’m offering. But what would that fix?
I can’t force this. Not with her. Not after all this time.
She has to come to me. Desperately, on her knees, and willing. Not to stroke my ego, but because Ineedher to want thisjust as bad as I do. Because she knows no one else could give her the life I would. The life I ache to give her.
Having her body is the easy part. I’ve had it before. Shit, I could have had her writhing beneath me tonight, but it’s her mind I crave. Her soul I’m starving for. A sliver of heaven I’m willing to die for, just to call a girl like Lexi Kanemine.
EAT YOUR YOUNG
LEXI - 3 MONTHS LATER
My feet acheand my hips throb. I knew pregnancy would be uncomfortable, but this much pain? It doesn’t seem fair. Every step feels like a punishment. How am I supposed to make it another three months?
Still, I push it to the back of my mind and continue arranging the new summer line we got in this morning. The faster I finish, the sooner I can collapse onto the stool behind the front desk and take the weight off.
Outside the boutique’s expansive front windows, the sky has finally settled into that soft, cheery blue we expect this time of year. The rainy snap from two weeks ago has passed, leaving behind sun-dappled sidewalks and a warm breeze that carries the scent of fresh blooms from the park nearby.
It's a relief not to have to layer up like a guest visiting Niagara Falls just to step outside. I don't miss walking through the door drenched, only to start sweating the second the heaters inside kick in. No one wants fashion advice from a sopping, overheated shop assistant.
The bell on the door jingles, announcing a customer’s arrival. I turn instinctively to greet whoever’s walked in, butthe moment my eyes meet hers, I freeze. My soles feel glued to the worn floor, and my throat tightens.
What is she doing here?
Mrs. Montgomery. Everything about her screams old Texas money. The meticulously pinned hair without a single strand out of place, lacquered with enough hairspray to hold up in a tornado. Her tailored navy dress clings to her like it was sewn onto her frame this morning. Her heels, ivory and polished, don’t dare scuff the floor. She's been in here once or twice before, always with Evan, and always after a posh lunch at the country club, which made this boutique seem quaint to a woman like her.
For someone like Mrs. Montgomery, this store—while upscale for most of our small town—might as well be a booth at the flea market out on Johnson Bend.
She doesn’t comment on my delayed greeting. Whether it’s her southern manners or willful ignorance, I can’t tell. I force myself to blink away the shock and clear my throat.
“Mrs. Montgomery, so lovely to see you. How can I help you today?” My voice is honey-dipped. A sweetness that could quench a hive of bees for a year.
I move around the display table, folding a shirt as I go, keeping my expression composed. But the second I come fully into her view, she stops short. Her eyes widen, and her hand flies to the pearl necklace around her throat.
She’s literally clutching her fucking pearls at the sight of me.
The walking cliche wants to send me into a fit of laughter, but I’m sure that would only escalate the situation.
“Oh, my dear…” she breathes, staggering slightly and gripping the back of the nearby upholstered chair for support. “I didn’t realize you were… expecting.”
My hand instinctively drops to rest protectively over mybelly. It’s still not overly noticeable, unless you know what to look for. Usually, my oversized sweater hides the swell. But the afternoon warmth had gotten to me, and I’d peeled it off once the lunch rush subsided. My thin cotton top clings slightly to my damp skin, making it impossible to miss now.
Her eyes drop to my stomach, and for a flicker of a second, I think I see a tear brimming behind her thick, black lashes.
