Page 26 of Dust Storm

He tugged on the elastic holding the bun together, letting light brown hair spill past his shoulders. One hand delved deepinto the locks as he let out a breath, assessed the situation, assessed me, and formed a plan in his mind.

“Just—uh—make yourself at home. I gotta make sure they’re good to go for the morning, then I’ll get your room set up.”

“Take your time,” I said with as much neutrality in my voice as I could muster while Christian climbed the stairs.

The optics are more important than our comfort. I could hear Tripp’s haughty voice in my head, and I hated it.

I found my cell and opened it up, hoping for some small connection to the outside world.

I had two measly bars at Christian’s house, which was enough for texts and grainy calls to come through. A few voicemails peppered the screen.

But nothing from Tripp.

NoI’m sorrytext. No voicemail explaining why the hell he had abandoned me.

Three years ago, I had been dreamy-eyed at the prospect of marrying him. His proposal had been planned by the best wedding planner in the industry.

He wanted to do it right.

He wanted to give me the fairytale moment.

He didn’t have time to come up with something on his own.

He loved me, but planning how he would ask me to marry him wasn’t in his wheelhouse, so he outsourced.

I hated the ring. It was hideously gaudy, but it was the right size karat to make a statement without being the headline. It was the right cut. The clarity was unmatched. It checked all the boxes for the perfect optics.

Three years ago, we had talked about dates and venues.

But something always came up to push it back until we stopped talking about it altogether.

And when I brought it up, he’d blame the delays on work.

Once, he offered a quick courthouse wedding just because he thought I would say no.

I said yes.

He didn’t show up.

Of course, Tripp blamed it on work.

His meeting ran late.

His client was inconsolable and he couldn’t slip away.

I should be more committed like he was.

I should be putting my clients ahead of my personal life.

Twisting the ring on my finger, I wondered what I was doing with it on my hand in the first place.

Voices carried down from the upstairs bedrooms.

“Can you do my hair like Miss Cassandra’s tomorrow?”

That sounded like the older one.

Christian gave a well-worn sigh. “Your hair isn’t long enough for big curls like that.”

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