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“Then we’re getting it.”
His decisive tone makes me grin. I love how all he cares about is whether I like something, whether it makes me happy. And as long as it does, then he wants it for me too. I don’t even bother to look at the price tag, since I know it’ll probably make my heart stop—and the truth is, I can afford it now. Besides, I’m basically buying myself armor to wear to my first meeting with Olivia since the wedding. So it’s worth splurging on whatever makes me feel the most confident and powerful.
I slip out of the dress, and Ransom hangs it back on a hanger as I pull on my street clothes. Then we step out of the dressing room and head to the register to purchase the dress.
On the way out of the shop, Ransom wraps an arm around me, and the small touch doesn’t make me flinch or tense up the way I’m expecting it to. I can even lean into his side a little as we head back to the car with the garment bag in tow.
It feels like progress.
Not quite as much as I’d like to have made, but progress all the same.
14
WILLOW
A few days later,I stand looking at my reflection in the mirror. I’m wearing the gold dress Ransom picked out, and I let his words replay in my mind as I smooth down the skirt of it, trying to feel more confident.
At least the cuts and bruises from everything that happened to me while I was Troy’s captive are slowly fading. Still visible, but not as dark and grim as they were at first.
Just a few months ago, I would have been trying to cover them up the same way I used to always try to cover up the scars. The old urge to hide everything is still there, but I push it back, not letting it take over. Honestly, the dress I’m wearing tonight doesn’t leave room for hiding. It’s off the shoulder and has short sleeves, showing the bruises and my scars, and I won’t try to put coverup on them.
No long sleeves, no makeup.
The truth is, I’ve fought my way through a lot to get here. I’ve been dodging death since before I even really knew it. All the way back to when Olivia killed my birth mother and tried to kill me, setting fire to our house to make it seem like an accident. Somehow, I managed to come through that in one piece.
I’ve been through a hell of a lot, and every mark on my body is proof that I’m a survivor.
That despite what happened to me, I’m not done fighting yet.
There was definitely a time when I felt like I was weak, or when I doubted my own strength to push through. But even then, I was fighting. Dealing with Misty, putting myself through college as best I could, trying to make a better life for myself with the little I had.
It makes me feel strong as I stand before the mirror, and I drag in a deep breath, nodding to my reflection. With the dress and my face lightly made up, I look good. My dyed brown hair spills over one shoulder in soft curls, pinned on one side, and although I still prefer my natural blonde color, the darker color seems to fit the occasion. I look like I can walk into a fancy party and hold my own.
And that’s what I intend to do.
I step out of the bathroom and into the main room of the hotel room we’re all still sharing.
The guys are already ready, Ransom and Malice sitting on the beds while Vic checks last-minute things on his computer. When I step out of the bathroom, all three of them look up.
They’re a bit dressed up too, in dark slacks and well-tailored blazers, their shirts underneath the only pops of color in their ensembles.
I can feel all three of them looking at me, their gazes starting at my head and moving down, taking in my outfit.
It’s the first time Malice and Vic are seeing the dress, and as Ransom tears his focus from me for a second to take in their expressions, he looks smug and pleased, as if he’s even more sure that he made the right call in picking out this particular dress.
“Do you like it?” I ask them, smoothing my hands down the front of it again.
“You’re stunning,” Vic replies, not taking his gaze off me.
“Looks like you’re not the only one who can pick out a dress, Vic,” Ransom says to his brother, grinning.
Vic just rolls his eyes, and Malice doesn’t let his eyes leave me for a second. There’s a look in the dark depths of his irises that lets me know exactly what he’s thinking about, and a flicker of heat flares in my belly.
If things were different, I’d be hoping for one of them—all of them, really—to touch me. To slide their fingers down my arm or dip them under the neckline of the dress. But now the thought of it makes my stomach twist with nerves, that hint of nausea still there, proof that I’m not over what happened to me yet.
None of the guys have rushed me or pushed for anything, all content to let me move at my own pace, but I still hate it. I want to feel normal again.
“Fuck, Solnyshka.” Malice’s hoarse voice draws my attention back to him and his brothers, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You look…”
