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I can’t help the slow spread of a grin as we rocket back toward the city, into the maze of streets that lead to designer labels and stores where champagne is served as you shop.

“If you didn’t notice, Melanie, this isn’t a Honda. I’ve leveled up quite a bit since then.”

“I liked the Honda,” she murmurs.

Her words hit me like a hammer to the heart and a frown twists my features. She can’t really mean that, can she? The women I’ve dated have eaten this up—the luxury, the lavish accessories, and the gifts. But in the passenger seat, Mel only seems resigned, arms crossed.

The first store we pull up in front of is called Lamb. Everything inside is white. I can see immediately that it’s not to her liking, but tug her inside anyway, situating myself behind her with a calm smile.

“Mr. Sharpe,” an assistant greets, familiar with me, though I don’t know her name. “How may we help you today?”

“My fiancé is interested in doing some shopping. Some dresses, perhaps. Something comfortable but suitable for a vacation.”

“Of course, sir.” The woman’s eyes cut to Mel, analyzing, judging. They narrow. She glances back at me, as if questioning whetherthiswomancould really be my fiancé. “Right this way, miss.”

Mel walks off stiffly, glancing once over her shoulder.

I find a comfortable couch and wait, lounging and watching. Another woman has joined them after a small argument breaks out. Mel has two hands up, palms forward, as if pushing the garments the first woman holds as far away as possible. They corral her toward the fitting rooms anyway, and I can’t help a smirk.

After only an hour, Mel finds me—out of breath and looking slightly rumpled. She grumbles that everything is at the register, and I stand, towering over her. I don’t ask what’s in the white bags. Just lead the way out to the car and pop the door so the staff can put everything in the back.

In the car again, Mel is even quieter.

“Is it that bad?” I ask, planning on another shop only two short blocks away. We could walk, but I want the air conditioning. And the privacy.

It feels good to be close to her again. If I can get away with it, I will. Her scent—like salted caramel—fills the Vantage, intoxicating me. I grip the wheel tighter, afraid of what I’ll say or do. In my mind, I imagine reaching out and wrapping my hand around her thigh. Squeezing. Brushing my fingers back, toward her warm center…

“It’s embarrassing.” Her tone makes me do a double take. She’s serious.

I park the car, get out, and go around to open the door for her, not sure how to navigate this moment. I wasn’t expecting Mel to be so…forthcoming. Not after twelve years of not seeing one another.

Yes, at one point, we told each other secrets. Holed up in the basement at my parents’ house, whispering and laughing, hearts aching, fingers exploring.

But this is different.

This is a business transaction.It’s my new mantra.

Still, there’s a haunted look in her eyes as she takes my hand and steps out onto the sidewalk. I lead her inside. The store is almost comically small, narrow, and deep, with only bathing suits inside.

She gravitates immediately toward the more colorful options, but grimaces in distaste at the cuts. I raise a brow, curious about what she’d look like in a few of them.

An older woman smoothly comes between us and shepherds Mel away. She gives off a motherly air, and soon enough, my fake fiancé is speaking to her quietly, as if confiding in her. They both frown, heads bowed together, ticking through the hangers, and pulling this or that down.

With a few options on her arm, Mel gives the woman a smile and heads back to the private fitting rooms.

The door chimes and another customer enters. The woman is distracted, and I walk casually back toward the rooms.

“Damn.”

I suppress a smile at the sound of her muffled curses. A thud, and I can see one of her shoes beneath the crack of the door.

After another moment or two, there’s silence.

“Are you okay in there?”

The door opens quickly, just enough for Mel to peer out at me, eyes wide.

“What are you doing, Jenson? This is—this is a women’s dressing room.”

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