Fine. Fine. This is me, stepping away from the line
But…
Let me ask one question
To make my point clear
What’s she gonna wear? The thrift shop bargain bin shit she always does? What about her hair? Her jewelry? Her makeup?
Your point makes you sound like an asshole
That was never in dispute
I slam my phone down on my desk. I don’t know who I’m madder at, Dom for making the point about Mina’s clothes, me for not seeing it first, or Mina for…
What?
Why would I be mad at her?
It’s not her fault finances are tight. Her dad abandoned her. Her mom got sick. Mina’s doing everything she can to keep her family afloat.
Despite the logical side of my brain recognizing that truth, I still feel a great deal of agitation in her direction. I don’t like knowing she’s scrimping and saving. I don’t like knowing she lives in a cheap apartment surrounded by assholes. I don’t like her driving a shitty car. I don’t like her wearing thrift shop clothes. She deserves so much more.
For as wrong as Dom is, he’s also right. I can’t let her show up to the gala in anything she currently owns. She’ll stand out like a sore thumb. I already did that to her once at my birthday party. I won’t let her be humiliated again. A quick text to Aunt Maisie gets me the name of a reputable women’s clothing store that carries dresses of a certain quality. And then I call Mina.
“I was just thinking of you,” she says and the warmth in her voice goes straight to my dick.
“I’m pretty much always thinking of you,” I mumble, then swipe a hand over my mouth. Dom’s wrong about her. I know he is, because I know her. But I thought I knew Blossom and I promised myself I’d never let someone catch me off guard like that again.
But Mina’s not like that. She’s not keeping things from me. And I can’t be a jaded fuck the rest of my life.
“I’m taking you shopping tonight,” I say with a smile.
There’s a long pause and then, “Shopping?”
“You need a dress for the gala.”
“I have dresses.”
“Not like this. There are certain expectations about presentation at these things.”
“And you don’t want me to let you down.”
Why does it sound like she’s offended?
“No, dammit. I don’t want to let you down. I want you to feel like you belong there.”
“Nathan…” Again with the pregnant pause, the silence too heavy for a fucking shopping trip. “I’m not comfortable with you spending money on me.”
“Let me do this for you.” I close my eyes. “I want to do this for you.”
The admission drips with meaning. I want to take care of her. I want to make her feel beautiful. I want to shove Dom’s words in his face. I want Mina to be as good and true and honest as she seems. I want her to step onto that stage and for everyone to gasp because they see how truly spectacular she really is. For once in her life, I want her to have more than enough.
Mina takes a breath and I brace for a fight. “Nothing too expensive.”
“No promises. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I end the call just as an alert on my name comes in.
Playboy Nathan West Spends Day on the Water with His Hot New Girl. Sources Say Things Got Spicy! How Long Until the Villain Ruins Everything?
“You know what?” I murmur as I delete the message. “I’m in too good a mood to care about Fallon fucking Mae.”
I bump to a stop in front of Mina’s apartment a few minutes early. She’s sitting on the top step of the porch and stands when she sees me. Her hair is down, the ends lifting off her chest in the evening breeze. Her eyes find mine like a thunderclap. I’m out of the car and pulling her to me before I know what’s happening. My hands slide up her back and into that midnight hair as I press her luscious body to mine and kiss her deeply. Her lips part and she tastes of strawberry and smells of citrus and feels like fucking heaven.
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day,” I whisper, then kiss her again. I’m giddy with the thought of spoiling her. She’s lived her whole life never quite having enough and tonight, I’m changing that. She’ll have everything she could possibly want.
Our first stop is Blush. My aunt said the clothing is expensive but worth it and that’s enough for me.
Mina gawks at the storefront as we near the entrance. “I can’t go in there.”
“Of course you can.”
She steps back, like she’s thinking of running. “I’ll set off the ‘you’re too poor to be here’ alarm.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t even think about that. Thank goodness you remembered that’s a thing because, oh wait, it isn’t.” A car rumbles by on the street behind us, filled with teenagers laughing, music loud, energy high. The world is theirs for the taking. I remember feeling that way. With Mina here, I still feel that way.
“Go ahead,” she says, pressing a hand to my chest. “Laugh it up. You’ve clearly never been judged by how you look and what you wear.”
I almost laugh in her face but choke it back. My entire life, people have judged my clothes, my parents, my privilege and wondered how they could use me to their advantage. For Mina, when a stranger judges her on the street, she’s just a nameless face, quickly forgotten. Me? I have people like Fallon Mae pointing out all my flaws—both real and imagined—with my name, my face, my business, my family attached. The damage is real and lasting. The stakes are higher.
One look at Mina’s face says she’s not in the mood for truth like that.
“You don’t have to worry about money,” I say, brushing a lock of ebony hair out of her face.
“I wish that were true.” Brows furrowed. Lip caught between teeth. Deep sigh.
“I’m sorry. I meant to say you don’t have to worry about money tonight.”
Before Mina can argue, I press my palm to the flat of her back and open the door. She smiles up at me as she passes and that’s it. I’m done for. I’d do anything to have her look at me like that every hour of every day.
The walls are adorned with soft blush tones, accented by touches of gold and silver, casting an inviting glow throughout the space. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, sending shimmering reflections dancing across Mina’s awed face. Plush velvet curtains frame the large display windows, and a musician plays classical guitar in a corner. His eyes are closed, enraptured with his own music and I take a moment to join him. A salesclerk approaches. Dressed in black. Hair slicked back. Her makeup is expensive yet polished. Her look designed to be a blank canvas. One that allows the customer to imagine her to be whoever she wants.
“You must be Mr. West and Miss Blake. Your aunt told me to expect you and has filled me in on your needs. I’ve pulled several dresses that might interest you, though you’re free to look around at our other options. Help yourself to the coffee bar over there, or would you prefer a glass of champagne?”
Mina gapes at me, unused to luxury shopping experiences. I tell the clerk we’d like to start with champagne, then ask to see the dresses she set aside.
