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“She’s the one who did our tattoos,” Rhett says.
“For . . .” Wren’s gaze lands on Rhett’s hand. “You want me to get a butterfly tattoo?”
“We know you never met Sammy,” I say, “but you’re helping to avenge her, and you’re a part of us. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“As long as you want to,” Elliot adds quickly. “You don’t have to.”
Wren’s eyes soften as she looks between the three of us. “Of course I want to. And this . . .” She waves her hand, gesturing around the room. “Thank you.”
“It’s the least we could do,” Elliot says as he takes her into his arms. “You belong here just as much as the rest of us do, and we want to make sure you know it.”
Her hands cup his face. “I do. I’ve never fit so perfectly in a place before.” Turning to Rhett, she says, “Or fit so perfectly with other people.”
When Wren’s lips meet his, he grabs her waist to pull her body against his. She doesn’t resist—fuck, she never does—and she slides both her hands down his chest. After she pulls away, her eyes stay closed for an extra second.
Wren’s content expression tugs at my heartstrings, or maybe at something deeper. Longing, I think. I’m hopeful that our current plan will work, and I’ve moved from distraction to distraction to keep myself from worrying too much. But I’m afraid that, despite our best efforts, everything is about to fall apart.
I wish we could always be happy like this.
Before my thoughts make their way to my face, Elliot pushes Wren toward me. She tackles me onto the bed before peppering my face with tiny, grateful kisses. With a laugh, I take hold of her head and press my lips to hers.
“Was the color your idea?” she asks me once I release her.
“Mmhmm. The bookshelves were Ell’s. The hook and mirror were Rhett’s. I think the painting was Ell’s, too. I certainly didn’t hang it.”
Wren surveys the room until her gaze lands on the painting that’s hanging above her dresser. It’s of a mountain landscape during sunset.
Her eyes widen, and then her jaw drops. “No way. That’s—that’sthepainting. Elliot!”
He chuckles. “I figured that’s how you’d react.”
“Should I recognize it?” I ask.
“It was in the museum when we went there on our date,” Wren says breathlessly. “Elliot—he—he made me describe it to him while he made me come.”
“Oh, shit.” I laugh and prop myself up on my elbows. “So that’s why you looked extra flustered. I thought it was just because we were in the museum.”
At the reminder, Wren squirms on top of me. “It was definitely both. Ell, I can’t believe you bought it just to put it up in here.”
“Your reaction made it worth it.” He comes up behind her and places his hands on her shoulders before leaning close. “And the reaction you’ll have every time you look at it in the future.”
“Fuck,” she whispers, and her eyes drift to the painting as she squirms again. “Is this part of your payback?”
He chuckles. “No. But it could be.”
A lustful look passes over her features, but then she frowns and glances around. “Wait. O, you mentioned a hook. What did you mean?”
With a growing smirk, I say, “Look up.”
She does, and immediately she notices the hook we installed in the ceiling. “What . . . ?”
“If you don’t know what it’s for,” Elliot says smoothly, “you’ll find out soon enough.”
Heat ignites in Wren’s eyes. “How much weight can it hold?”
“More than enough.”
“Oh, god,” she whispers.
