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“Is that the one who said something about several million dollars?”
Mase closes his eyes. “You didn’t need to hear that.”
“You don’t thinkIneed the heads-up if they won’t like me?”
“They’ll love you. It’s…” He trails off and I know. I know why he won’t meet my gaze, why he had to tell them in the bathroom away from where I could hear him.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Curls springing every which way, eyeliner and mascara smudged under my eyes, lips swollen from kissing Mase.
So much kissing.
All the kissing I could ever want. Slow, wet kisses that flipped my insides upside down with desire; quick, playful kisses that made me giggle; his tongue trailing along my neck—
What is that on my neck?
It is crystal clear that I am nothing like the women Mase’s sisters are used to him bringing home. And for the first time, I don’t think the difference is a good thing. People don’t like change. They like consistency; they like what they’re used to.
Have I been living in a bubble? Why would I ever imagine Mase’s family not having a problem with me? “They won’t approve of me,” I say flatly. “They’ll think I’m not good enough for you.”
Mase spreads his hands. “No. Of course not. That’s not it at all. My sisters—Carter, really—looks after the business end of things, and she’s been trained to watch out for problems like this. Not like this,” he quickly backpedals. “This is not a problem.”
“It’s not? You could have fooled me.”
“Can we start again?” If I weren’t so angry, I might have softened at the miserable tone of his voice.
“What, exactly, would you like to start again? The whole, ‘let’s get hitched’ thing, or the whole meeting you in the first place? Because I’d be fine without that happening right now.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“You can’t tell me what I mean or don’t mean.”
“Fiona. Don’t do this.” I’m so glad he doesn’t call me darlin’. It’s not that I don’t like terms of affection, but he uses that when the Mase mask is on.
Two nights, and already I think I know everything about him? Clearly, I don’t. I don’t know anything. I’m not often stupid, but the mistakes I make are usually about men.
Looks like I did it again.
“Listen to me,” Mase pleads “Please. I called my sisters because they’re my sisters and I wanted to tell them. About you, because I’m excited about you. And like usual, Carter over-reacted.”
I don’t budge. “So you haven’t paid off a bunch of women?”
“Who said that?”
“‘Already cost the family several millions of dollars.’ But that’s probably a drop in the bucket for a family like yours.” My voice is bitter and snide, and I don’t like the sound of it.
I don’t like the sound of me right now, but I can’t seem to stop. I interrupted what was obviously a personal conversation, and I think I have some right to demand clarification for what I overheard.
Two inner voices are at war in my head; my own, which shouts that I have a right to demand whatever I want, and the voice of the Bad B’s—Bradley and Bryce, all mixed together, and threatening to demean me. Telling me to calm down, not to get upset, not to stress about it.
Surprisingly, my anxiety is the last thing I’m worried about. My stomach is clenched tighter than the way Mase held me last night, but for once it’s not a preclude for panic.
“She was talking about the paternity case,” Mase says quietly. “I don’t pay women off.”
“I should feel special I’m the first.”
“No one is paying you off!” Mase roars loud enough to make me jump, then clutches his head. “Jesus. Just please...quiet.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not that.”
I stare at him, willing him to look at me. But when those blue eyes meet mine, my heart sinks. “My sisters, especially Carter, know the type of women I’ve been involved with. She’s had to deal with my messes—several million dollars worth of mess.”
