Page 71 of Crimson Love

It’s not even red. This dress is crimson.

The color of blood.

Memories are frazzling my nerves. I’m not dealing well with any of it at the moment.

I wish I was as confident as I look, because the dress screams I’m serious, don’t fuck with me, and let this be a reminder of the lengths I’m willing to take to protect myself.

Jett and I are a pair. In any other scenario, he’d be the background canvas to my crimson, but there’s no way he could fall into the background even if he tried. Dressed from head to toe in a color that fits his name—jet-black. His tall and wide stature demands attention. I’m not sure if he got the memo from Harlow, but he ditched the tie. His crisp, inky dress shirt is open at the neck, and his jacket and trousers fit him like they were cut for his perfect frame.

If our job was to demand attention, then we’ve done what we set out to do. Jett and I have turned more heads than I can count on our way through the atrium of the manor. It started the moment we stepped off the elevator and hasn’t stopped. I think a quarter of those heads are my coworkers or Winslet locals.

This isn’t going to help the small-town gossip. Work tomorrow will be interesting.

Oh well. I have bigger things to worry about. That seems like nothing right now compared to dealing with Andrei. And if my sweaty palms and racing heart mean anything, I’m worried about doing the only job the professionals tasked me with in the meeting earlier today.

The tips of Jett’s fingers flirt with the swell of my ass. His hand is glued to the small of my back. When I stepped out of the bathroom in this dress, I thought he was going to rip it right off me.

I could tell by his heated gaze, and by the fact he said, “I’m going to rip that dress off you the moment we get this shit done and the cocksucker who ruined your life is in jail.”

That’s when I told him I thought I might throw up if we had time, which we didn’t. I had no choice but to take Jett’s hand for him to lead me back into the flames of hell.

We’re almost to the entrance of The Greenhouse, Jett’s touch circles my hip and brings me to a stop. He pulls me around the corner behind a huge floral arrangement that sits on a marble column and turns me to him. He leans in so close, his breath is a whisper on my ear, and I feel every heated word.

“I need to tell you something before we go in there.”

I push him back a touch to look up into his dark eyes, because I don’t like the sound of his tone. “What’s wrong? What could you have to tell me now?”

His other hand comes to my face where he strokes my jaw with his thumb. “In the last few years, I became a reader.”

I frown and my response comes out as a question because that might be the oddest thing to say right before we come face to face with Andrei Petrov. “Okay?”

He doesn’t miss a beat and keeps talking. “It was one of the only things that would take my mind off the fucking disease that was slowly killing me. I couldn’t work out or run or do any of the other things the Army trained me to do for over a decade. I read all kinds of shit. Fiction, self-help, personal reflection, health and wellness—not that that got me anywhere. When I got worse, I took a dive straight into inspirational and spiritual. If I was going to die sooner rather than later, I figured it couldn’t hurt. If it made me feel better about my own mortality, I read it.”

I put my hand over his heart. His eyes match his suit in the moody light. Jett is as intense as ever. I lower my voice to a whispered hiss. “Thank you for telling me this. I want to know everything about you. Especially this. But this seems like an odd time.”

“It’s the perfect time. You need to hear it now more than ever.”

His hand on my back drops and splays over my ass. He pulls my front to his. We’re glued to each other in an embrace that leaves nothing to imagination. To any outsider looking in, they’d think he was declaring his unconditional love rather than his reading preferences, which are surprising, but I’ll have to digest that another time. “Jett, we’re going to be late.”

He doesn’t care and keeps going as if this is our own private book club and his latest novel needs to be dissected between the lines to understand every nuance. “I read some deep shit. Then some other shit that was really out there. I got to the point that I didn’t care what I read, as long as it wasn’t another depressing report from my team of doctors. At the time, it felt pointless. But now I’m glad I did. If for no other reason, I know it’s for this moment.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, talk of mortality isn’t doing the trick.”

“No. It’s not about death. Not anymore. By some miracle, I dodged it and so did you. This is about living. I got to a point of depression that led me straight to the topic of resurrection and renewal. It felt like bullshit at the time. I fucking hated that book and almost threw it across the room a million times, because I never saw that in my future. That author insisted that new life is a state of mind, as if positive thinking would save me over modern medicine.”

My fingers grip his lapels. I almost forget about what we’re about to walk into. “I can’t imagine what you went through by yourself. I wish I was with you then.”

When he continues with his book report, it starts to sink in. “With what I was going through, it seemed shallow as hell and spewed shit that no one like me could ever get behind ... until now. That book compared new life to a peacock. A fucking peacock. Like that was supposed to heal my soul and change my outlook on my depressing-as-fuck life. Because when a peacock sheds its feathers, it grows new ones. New growth doesn’t only signify new life, but a fresh start. A rebirth.” He pauses and his hold on me tightens. “Baby, you’re the peacock.”

I have no response. I’m taken aback. Not by his ability to retain random facts, but the fact that it’s focused on me.

“It’s you, baby. It hit me in the elevator, and I couldn’t wait another moment to tell you. Because when you walk in there, I want you to prove to that fucker that no one will steal your time again, and that part of your life is over. You made sure of that when you saved yourself. And with me by your side, you’re going to prove to Petrov that he’ll never fucking control you again. Go in there and show him who you’ve become. Spread your feathers, baby. I know you can do it.”

If he weren’t holding me up, I might fall into a puddle in this crimson dress. “You’re going to make me cry.”

His fingers pinch into my ass where he’s holding me to him as his expression intensifies. “No, you’re not. You’re going to stalk in there with your head held high and be the bravest badass you can be. Got it?”

I pull in a breath, swallow my fear, and nod. “I’ll do my best.”