Page 118 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?
Somebody behind my right shoulder let out a dreamy sigh, probably Aria, and then jarred me out of my reverie with a whispered thank you.
"Oh, um, yes, thank you," I repeated.
He smiled, lighting me up inside.
"Just remember," Annalise said in a low voice from my left shoulder, "don't let him off the hook until after you talk to Preston and Sloane."
With a glint of amusement in his eye, Tristan nodded. "Fair enough. Your sister has a point."
"I most definitely do," Annalise said.
"Relax, Annalise," Aria hissed.
My head on a swivel, I glanced at one of them and then the other, a giggle escaping me, because they were literally an angel and devil perched on either shoulder.
"Ready to get out of here?" Tristan asked, a knowing smile on his face.
"God, yes."
Taking my hand firmly, he laughed.
"Nuh-uh, not without pictures, babes," Aria spoke up.
Okay, now she had officially joined Annalise in the devil category. But since there was no fighting it, I relented, and Tristan and I posed for a crap-ton of photos, as I wondered the whole time whether these photos would someday be cherishedas the real start of something or if I'd look at them and cry. Or rage. Or feel stabby.
Oh, my God.
It all hit me. I was really doing this. Going to what was pretty much a St. Lucius reunion with Tristan Hawthorne.
As if he sensed my swirling panic, he took one look at me and whisked me away toward the front door. "That's it. We need to go," he said, all bossy CEO tone that no one dared argue with.
Damn, that was hot.
I turned to wave goodbye to everyone, only to freeze in my tracks just outside the door, because there was a Rolls Royce waiting out front, complete with a uniformed chauffeur patiently waiting for us.
"Wow," I gasped as he opened the door.
So maybe with my upbringing, I was somewhat used to luxuries like this, but the fact that Tristan had gone all out for this evening meant a lot to me.
Sliding into the back, I sunk into the soft leather seat, the smell surrounding me, like old money mixed with a hint of Tristan's cologne, amplified when he settled in beside me, his thigh brushing mine in the most delicious way.
Why did he always have to smell so good? It messed with my mind completely and threw me off balance, taking me back to the night when we'd...
No. I couldn't think about that.
The door closed, shutting us inside our own little world, tinted windows hiding us from onlookers, the car almost soundproof to the usual noises of the city.
As the driver smoothly pulled into traffic, I noticed Tristan's eyes travel from my hips to my toes—yes, thank you slit—heating up the intimate space.
"You wore the shoes..." His voice was gravelly. "They look perfect on you."
I swallowed. "Thank you. I love them."
His eyes glimmered with pleasure as he smiled at me, all that energy lasered in on me, overwhelming yet addictive. God, I could get used to that.
"I actually loved all the gifts. I... I'm not sure how to even thank you."
He shrugged. "No need for thanks. I just had fun. Archie helped."
