Page 105 of Sweet Ruin

“Oh—I just meant that she’s got a really lovely shape, and there are certain silhouettes that⁠—”

“Because it sounded like an insult,” Kane says, straight over the top of her. “But not even to her. You said it to me. As if she isn’t standing in the room.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“You brought her two garments she can’t get her arm through.” He nods at the hook. “You know it and I know it. And then you brought three designed to make her disappear. Unique. Tell me what that meant. Say it now.”

“Mr. Makov⁠—”

“I’ve heard this exact conversation before,” he snarls. He pushes off the wall and advances on the woman, who seems to be shrinking more and more with every passing second. “Word for word. From women who looked like you, in places like this, about a woman who was worth ten of you. So on second thought, don’t finish what you were saying. I know how it ends. And I don’t want to fucking hear it.”

The saleswoman’s face has gone blotchy. She looks at me for the first time like I’m a person, and what’s in her face is less of an apology and more of a terrified panic that she picked the wrong customer to be a snooty bitch toward.

“We’re finished,” Kane says. “Take your things off the hook.”

“I can absolutely pull other⁠—”

“You had one chance to see her correctly. You failed.”

He turns and storms out. I stand there for a second, holding a size six by the tag, wondering what in the hell just happened.

I think he was defending my honor? But there were maybe also some other things involved?

I don’t know. I really don’t.

So, with one more glance at the humbled woman, I let the dress go, pick up my coat, and follow him out.

Outside, Kane is holding the car door for me. “Get in.”

I stand my ground. “Are you going to tell me what that was?”

“Get in the car, Lilah.”

“No. Not until you explain yourself. I’ve had enough cryptic stuff for one day, thank you very much.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Kane says. But he’s looking over my head, not at me, and there’s a stiffness in his jaw that argues the exact opposite.

“You just ripped a woman’s head off over the word ‘unique.’ I’ve been called worse than that by my own mother in public. I don’t need somebody swooping in⁠—”

“I won’t fucking tolerate it.” His jaw thrums. “Nobody disrespects you like that. Not while you’re with me.”

I recoil, not in shock or horror, but simple, dumb surprise.

I meant what I said: Mom has said worse to me plenty of times, in front of prying eyes and gawking onlookers. Hell, she said worse at my own wedding reception, and I just laughed along. When Vivian said my jaw looked fat over the counter last week, I laughed along with her, too.

But this strange force of nature just swept into my life and said, No more.

“It’s fine,” I mumble. “It’s not a big deal. It happens.”

“Not anymore, it doesn’t.”

“You can’t just…” I sigh and let it go. Snow is starting up again, little dry flakes that don’t stick. I hold out a hand and watch as one lands on my fingertip and melts. “Okay.”

“Get in the car, Lilah.”

I get in the car. He shuts the door and comes around the other side, and the seat starts kneading my back again like nothing happened.

Kane pulls his phone out, types something short, and puts it away.