Page 119 of Revenge Is a Dish Best Served… Wearing Heels?
"What?" I couldn't help laughing at the idea of the snarky teenager picking out baby clothes. "He did?"
"It was the least he could do after roasting me so thoroughly," he said wryly.
More laughter escaped me.
"Would you believe..." Tristan's hand landed on my knee as he spoke. "...that Archie even looked up baby rooms?"
Baby rooms? I hadn't even done that yet. "No. I don't believe that for one second."
"It's the goddamn truth. He did. But..."
"But what?" I braced myself.
"But I think the kid might be a little too obsessed with creepy stuff because, well, it started normal enough with animals and books, but then... I don't even want to tell you his suggestions."
"No, please don't. I'm having enough trouble with nightmares lately, and my brain doesn't need any more fuel."
While I aimed for a light tone, trying to downplay the bad dreams I'd been having lately, Tristan clearly didn't buy it, his brows coming down in concern.
"You're having nightmares?"
I attempted to shrug it off. "Yeah, probably hormones or something. It's fine though. Really."
His hand tightened on my knee. "What are they about?"
Sighing, I wondered how I could explain it, and if I even wanted to. After all, they were kind of about him. Well, theyused to be, and now? They were just shadowy figures in hallways tormenting me, pointing and laughing at me.
He squeezed again, drawing my attention to his concerned face. "You know you can tell me anything. Right?"
Could I? I wasn't so sure... yet. But maybe this nightmare thing was a good place to start. "They're about what happened to me at St. Lucius," I blurted out.
A noise came from the back of his throat, something similar to a growl. "My God, if I could go back in time and fix everything, I would. Ihatethat you're having nightmares about it still."
Something about his tone, the empathy laced throughout his words, made me believe him and want to actually comforthimnow. "I didn't for a long time. Or... they were sparse," I corrected. "But lately, I don't know. All of this has, um..."
His epic sigh made my hair move, which was impressive, considering all the product it contained. "Brought it back to the forefront, hasn't it?" he finished for me.
I nodded.
"I'm sorry," he said. "So fucking sorry."
We didn't have time to delve into it deeper, not with our driver pulling up to the venue. Despite the anxiety pummeling me, I still managed to appreciate how stunning the place was, all columns and elegant arches, with wide steps and an entrance decked out in St. Lucius' colors. Navy carpet trimmed in gold, banners with the school's crest. Not exactly understated or subtle. Typical.
The driver opened my door first with Tristan quickly coming around to offer an arm to me. I was eternally grateful for his strong grip because the last thing I wanted to do was face-plant in front ofthesepeople. Once I was safely on my feet, Tristan's hand landed on my back, something about it comforting while at the same time setting my body abuzz.
Or maybe that was my nerves. Because holy hell, I was really doing this.
As we climbed the few steps, the pressure of his hand increased on my back, and I knew he had me if the worst were to happen. But even that reassuring thought did nothing to calm my racing heart.
I was about to enter the lion's den.
"Tell me again why we're doing this?" I whispered as we passed clusters of alumni taking pictures outside the large ballroom.
He paused, turning to face me, his eyes pools of seriousness. "So you can show everyone how kick-ass you are. So you can finally get the apology you fucking deserve. So you can finally get closure."
"Oh, is that all?" I quipped.
His lips quirked up in a small smile. "That's all," he said, finality in his voice. "And then we'll blow this joint and never come back. Okay?"
