Dad barely nods. It’s a surrender carved out of being cornered. “You’re dismissed,” he mutters. “Both of you.”
Cormac squeezes my hand. “Come on.”
We walk out together, blood drying on our skin, adrenalin pounding in our veins, love in our hearts.
Together.
Chapter 45
Scarlett
December
“There’s something I need you to put on your calendar,” Cormac says a week later, grabbing his morning mug of coffee.
“What kind of something?” I ask, leaning on the counter, bracing for something I may not like.
“The St. Boudin MS Fundraiser Gala.” He stares into the mug, like he’s uncomfortable. “I volunteered at their clinic for a few months when my mother was admitted there for her MS. They’re giving me a recognition plaque. Do-gooder doctor of the year award.” His jaw tightens like the words taste strange.
“Oh.” My stomach tightens.
Pierce dragged me to that fundraiser last fall. He goes every year.
Cormac finally meets my eyes, and his expression tells me he senses I’m trying to dodge.
“I want you there with me. You’re my wife.”
“Crowds make me jumpy,” I mumble. “And with the end of the semester right around the corner, I have papers to finish and finals to?—”
“Scarlett,” Cormac interrupts, gentle but immovable. “It’s a few hours. I need you there with me. Please.”
That confession gets me. Sighing, I say, “Okay.”
He takes a sip of coffee. “Do you have something to wear?”
I start to sayno, then remember the dress rolled into a ball at the bottom of my duffel. The one I almost left in Pierce’s apartment. The gownhebought me for last year’s fundraiser. Black, open back, slinky, daring. The pig wanted to show me off as his prize.
Showing up in it this yearasMrs. O’Rourke? Oh, that would burn Pierce to ash.
“Yeah,” I say lightly. “I have a dress.”
Cormac nods, satisfied. “Good. It’s Saturday.”
“Saturday,” I repeat. My pulse jumps, but I force a smile.
“Thank you, baby.” His eyes turn molten. “Now get your naked ass in the shower.”
I slip into the apartment late Saturday afternoon with the dry-cleaning bag. There is no way I want Cormac to know I wore this dress last year.
I tiptoe through the apartment, passing his office, pause, and listen.
His keyboard clicks with steady, controlled taps. The blue sticky on the door signals it’s work for our class, so he’s not to be disturbed.
I reach the bedroom and tear the plastic open with shaky fingers. The black gown spills out. I see this dress now with different eyes. It’s the kind of dress that makes men fight over who gets to have it on their floor.
Second-guessing myself, I regret this decision. But it’s too late now. I literally have nothing else suitable for a gala.
I jump, feeling Cormac standing behind me in the closet, close enough that his heat melts down my spine. Warm breath ghosts across the side of my neck.