Page 54 of Falling

“You never talk about your family, and you talk about everything,” she points out, glancing at me. Her green eyes flash with worry before she turns back to the road. “But just so you know, you can talk to me about them. When you want to, that is.”

“I know,” I reply. “I just don’t like talking about them much. We’re all in a weird place right now.”

“I get that,” she says, smiling softly. “Well, that door is always open if you ever do want to talk about it, just so you know.”

“I know. Thank you, Wrenny.”

She flashes me a smile that’s both teasing and sincere. “You’re so welcome, Milesy.”

On the drive there, I try to remember the countless stories she has told me about her dad. From what I’ve heard, he’s probably the only person that Wren truly loves apart from her friends. When she talks about him, she doesn’t hold back anything like she does with her mom. She doesn't talk about him as if he's simply just the person responsible for creating her.

She told me about how much she adores him and how grateful she is to have him as a dad while her mom was hard on her. Over the last three days, she’s been quizzing me on the things that her dad likes and what he doesn’t.

“Cream cheese,” she says, keeping her eyes focused on the road.

“Like or dislike?”

“Loathe,” she growls, slowly turning to me, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Okay,” I whistle. ‘No cream cheese.”

“Neverany cream cheese.”

The hotel isa lot fancier than I imagined.

I have to crane my head back to take in all the stories of sleek black glass from top to bottom. The inside is a mix of gold and black, and it’s fucking breathtaking.

Wren navigates us around as if she works here. She seems so natural at this, linking her arm in mine and walking us around. She talks to the staff as if they are old friends that she needs to catch up with. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they are.

We make our way through the glass elevator to our luxury suite. There are three main rooms: the master bedroom with a California king, a huge bathroom, and a living room space with a mini bar. Obviously, we’re not legally allowed to drink so everything is empty, but it’s still cool.

“So, I guess I’m sleeping on the couch,” I say when I return to the bedroom. Wren has started unpacking her things onto the hangers neatly, walking back and forth from her suitcase on the bed to the closet. I don’t understand why she insisted on bringing so many clothes for such a short trip.

“Miles, I had to go through the trouble of explaining to my dad that I wanted separate beds. He's doing the whole 'I trust you' thing. Plus, this bed could fit, like, three times the size of us on here and there would still be room. We can share it for one night, right?” Wren turns to me, hands on her hips. “You probably won’t even notice I’m there.”

“Okay, but no funny business,” I say, mainly reminding myself to keep it in my pants. I could never not notice her. She laughs and walks toward me.

“How about you go and repeat that in the mirror?” she whispers.

After we take turns in the bathroom, we’re finally getting ready for the event. I’m standing in front of the mirror that takes up most of one wall, watching a YouTube video on how to tie my bow tie.

I don’t know how I let Evan talk me out of getting a clip-on one. He said something about making a good first impression even though I doubt Wren’s dad would be able to tell the difference between a real bow tie and a clip-on.

I’m grunting with frustration when I catch a glimpse of her in the mirror behind me. Wren’s eyes lock with mine, and I forget how to breathe.

She looks devastating.

She’s wearing a dark-blue evening gown, her blonde hair is tied back into a neat bun with a small silver clip. Her silver earrings dangle elegantly, matching with her heels. She walks toward me slowly, and my hands fumble around my tie when I remember that it’s there.

“Need help with that?” she asks, gesturing toward my bow tie. I nod, basically foaming at the mouth. When did I forget how to speak? “I asked my dad to teach me how to tie ties once and it just stuck.”

Her hands come toward my neck as she unties the knot I made. Very slowly. Too slow. I watch as her hands work at the mess I made, and I try to swallow. She looks up at me, smirking before looking back down to my tie.

A soft smile tugs at her lips. “What?”

“Promise me you’ll come back here with me tonight,” I get out when I find my voice. Her eyebrows furrow. She looks up at me, but I watch her in the mirror.

“What do you mean?”

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