Page 84 of Picture Perfect

She responds with equal fervor, a wild electricity passing between our entwined bodies. Her hands find their way into my hair, fingers entangling in the strands, pulling me closer as if to erase any remaining distance between us. I feel the heat of her skin against mine, the beating of her heart.

The boundaries that once separated us dissolve. The darkness within me, the shadows that define my existence, meld with hers.

As our lips part, Addy's eyes are swirling. Fear. Longing. Hope.

I cup her face in my hands, my touch gentle yet firm. Our lips touch again with a gentleness I've rarely felt.

"We're here." Saint calls from the front.

"And we're not fucking going anywhere, Snowflake."

"No, dickface. We're here. Literally."

And then the shadows break. She tilts her head back and lets out a joyous laugh, the lines around her eyes crinkling as she beams.

I don't think I've ever seen anything more beautiful.

I'm out of the car before Saint kills the engine, and I'm at her side just as fast. The protest forms on my snowflake's lips, but it dies when she sees my face.

"Come on," I urge gently, offering my hands to her. She looks up at me, those green eyes flickering with a storm of emotions I can't quite name.

"Really, Dre, I can walk," she insists, though her voice quakes like a leaf in the wind.

"Indulge me," I counter, my tone brooking no argument. I wrap an arm around her waist, steadying her as she slides out of the seat. She leans into me more than she probably intends, her body instinctively seeking support. It's a small victory, but it feels monumental.

We move toward the diner entrance, my hand never leaving her back. I can feel every fragile rib through her thin jacket, and it reminds me of what's at stake. She's more breakable than she lets on, but she's also stubbornly independent. It's a dangerous combination that both frustrates and fascinates me.

Chess is a few steps behind us, but Saint is still sitting in the car. I turn back toward him, but Chess pats my back.

"He's not okay," he tells me quietly. "Just...give him a minute."

"Right."

"Thank you," my snowflake murmurs, so quiet I almost miss it over the low hum of conversation from inside the diner.

"For what?" I ask, genuinely puzzled as I pull open the door for us.

"For... not letting go," she says, and it's almost drowned out by the sudden swell of noise as we step inside.

I don't let go. Not when we're greeted by the smell of greasy food and the sight of vinyl booths. Not when Chess nods toward our usual spot in the back corner. And definitely not when the waitress gives us a knowing smile, one that tells me she recognizes the storm brewing beneath my calm exterior.

"Anytime," I tell Addy, and I mean it. Her battle is mine now, whether she's ready to accept it or not. We'll take it one step at a time, starting with keeping her upright as we navigate to our table, tucked away from prying eyes.

Chapter forty

Saint

Igrip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, my eyes fixed on Princess's frail figure as Dre guides her up the steps to the monstrous Winthrop estate, Chess right by her other side. The sun casts long shadows that seem to swallow her whole. I should be helping her, but I can't move. I'm frozen, a statue of rage and regret.

"So fucking stupid," I mutter to myself. My voice is a low growl, barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears. They don't hear me; they're too focused on Princess, their concern etched into every line of their bodies.

I hadn't wanted to bring her back here. If I had my say she would never have set foot in this house of horrors ever again.

She argued. Told us she was only seventeen and that William Winthrop would make sure that she was dragged back kicking and screaming. She was going home.

I wanted to argue, to fight her decision, but the resignation in her eyes stopped me cold. She doesn't trust us enough to believe we can offer her anything better than the gilded cage she calls home. And, why should she?

The drive to the Winthrops place had been a blur, my mind waging war between longing and self-loathing. And instead of helping her to the door, I couldn't even be bothered to get out of the car.

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