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I slide across the seat and move to climb out, as well, but then I pause when he offers me his hand. I take it, mostly since my mother is watching me and will probably give me a lecture if I don’t.
Once my palm is in his, he helps me out then closes the door. Then he threads his fingers through mine. “Let’s get inside,” he tells me, his breath fogging out in front of him.
I shiver from the frigid breeze and inch closer to him as we approach the store.
I’m highly aware that Blaise appears on edge—his gaze is sweeping across the towering buildings and people walking by.
“Why are you so nervous?” I whisper as we reach the glass door entrance.
He pulls the door open and holds it open for me. “I’m not.” The muscle in his jaw ticks.
Liar.
Shaking my head, I slip my hand from his and rush into the store.
Blaise sighs behind me and holds the door open for my mother. She walks in, thanking him, and the door swings shut with ading.
The store owner, a woman with auburn hair, a pierced brow, and wearing a green dress, wanders in from the back. The moment she spots us, a trace of fear flashes in her eyes.
She knows who my family is, and she’s frightened by it. Smart woman.
“Hello, Anna,” my mother greets the store owner, meeting her near the front register. She begins telling the store owner why we’re here and even adds that we need to find me something to wear under my dress.
Not wanting to hear my mother discuss what lingerie I’ll be wearing, I roam over to a wall that has dresses and begin sifting through them, even though I’ve already gotten mine.
“Are you okay?” Blaise asks, stepping up beside me.
I ignore him and continue my pointless sifting.
“Al.” He places a hand on the small of my back. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop calling me sweetheart, and Al, and baby. Jesus, how many times must I tell you that?” I instantly feel bad as the sight of his wounded expression.
Blaise isn’t like Ryder or Reece. He’s more softhearted and easier to hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“You don’t need to be sorry.” He swallows hard. “I get it … Allura.”
My full name doesn’t sound right leaving his mouth.
I’m about to apologize again and tell him he can call me Al, but my mother interrupts the moment.
“Okay, your dress will be waiting for you to try on in just a few minutes.” She slips off her pair of gloves and looks around the store. “Now, let’s find you something to wear underneath it. Blaise, why don’t you help with that?”
“What?” My jaw drops.
My surprise is stupid. This is my mother we’re talking about.
“No,” I protest, but she blatantly ignores me as she walks up to a rack and starts searching through corsets and lacey fabrics.
“It should definitely not be tasteful,” she mutters under her breath. “But not tacky, either.”
“That makes no sense.” I glare at her, my cheeks growing warm at the subject.
“Of course it does.” She pulls out a little two-piece getup that’s black with a lace trim. “Here, try this on.” She holds it out to me.
“No,” I reply firmly.
