I wish Dallas Wilder hadn’t lied to me. He seemed different. Heseemedgood. Strong. And so beautiful. He seemed so true to his word.
He really didn’t come across as the devil incarnate.
I wish I didn’t love him so much.
God, I’m so bad at reading people. Once again I’ve been fooled, trying to trust when I should know better by now.
“Amelie, open your eyes.”
I don’t want to. But the ground is hard and there are people gathered around me, staring down at me.
I let them help me up. The room is still spinning, but less so now. Sadie and some other people guide me to the booth. I slide into it gratefully, leaning against the vinyl cushioned seats. At least the music isn’t so loud now, like the DJ might be taking a break. Someone hands me some ice wrapped in paper towel and I hold it to the back of my head, where there’s a throbbing pain. My fingers touch the place and there’s a bump there. When I draw my hand away, my fingers are lightly smeared with blood.
Shit.
There’s a space behind my head that the ice pack fits into without me having to hold it. I lean back against the coolness and it feels good.
I notice then that there are cops outside the door. I can see the red flashing lights and some big burly men in uniform. Saskia and her friends are talking to some of them. A couple of the cops are holding another man who’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt and who looks like he might be handcuffed.
It’s the man from the dance floor.
“There were a lot of witnesses,” Sadie says. “That guy just got arrested for assault. He pushed you hard, Ami. Are you feeling any better? I think you need to see a doctor.”
“I’m all right.” We both know I can’t afford a doctor. But it scares me.If there is a baby … is it okay?
“Are you sure, Ami? I think I should call an ambulance.”
“No.Don’t you dare. I don’t need one. I’m fine. It’s just a bump.” It is just a bump. I’m already feeling a little better.
My hand rests lightly on my stomach.Please be okay. Because I think you might be there. I just get this feeling you’ve already started.My other hand slides into the pocket of my jacket and my fingers curl around it: the black credit card. Actually I can afford a doctor. I just need to be strategic about how and when I deploy this bad boy. Because I can only do it once.
Maybe I should go to the Bahamas. It sounds nice. The water in the photos always looks so blue. I could just hang out on the beach, paint pictures and disappear. I’ve never been to a beach.
Or Paris. I had a grandmother from Paris. And some other relatives on my mother’s side. Maybe I have some distant second cousin somewhere. I could see the sights.
An errant echo of a memory surfaces.I’m going to fly you to Paris and I’m going to take you up to the top of the Eiffel Tower and get down on one knee and I’m going to ask you to be my wife and have my six babies and live happily ever after with me while we build a life together out of every single one of those wildest dreams.
Goddamn you, Dallas Wilder. I knew you were too good to be true.
For a second I wonder if I hit my head harder than I thought because, speak of the devil, he materializes out of thin air in that exact second. There. At the door. By the swarm ofcops and bouncers. And now I actually am getting concerned because there are three of him.
But then I realize each one of him is dressed differently. One of him is taller and sort of devastatingly handsome, as always, wearing that same suit he was wearing earlier but his tie is gone now and his shirt is open, showing some of that ink I used to trace my fingers over. One of the other ones has darker hair and is wearing an outfit that’s vaguely cowboy-ish, like he recently spent time at the ranch in Montana. The third one’s hair is a shade lighter and he’s wearing some kind of race car driver leather jacket that looks expensive. He’s almost familiar.
Heisfamiliar. He’s that movie star.
Holy shit.
ItisDallas. And two of his brothers.
The brothers are very good-looking, but to me the original version is sort of next level beautiful. It hurts my heart to see him. Itbreaksmy heart, that’s what it does. The same heart I thought was permanently broken but it turns out Dallas Wilder started to actually fuckingfixthose broken pieces before shattering them all over again.
I hate him.
I don’t want to see him.
At first I don’t realize that I just said those words out loud. But Sadie turns. By the time she’s able to scramble out of the booth and confront him, the three of them are only a few feet from our table.
Dallas’s gaze holds mine and there’s so much worry and love—and crazy, wild relief—that I hate him all over again,more than I ever have.You missed your calling, Wilder. You should have followed in your mother’s footsteps. You’re a natural.
