Page 58 of Destroyed

“I know, I know,” I smile. “I’m just kidding.” So maybe Sasha annoys me a bit more than I admit to myself. It’s just the fact that she brings the danger with her. She practically seethes it. But I also know it’s all she’s known. That lifestyle, catering to her uncle’s demands, trying to survive by whatever means were necessary. “Any ideas of where we could go?”

Xavier pulls away from me and walks into his closet. I’ve begun bringing my clothes over, so it’s technicallyourcloset.

“Take her to your favorite art studio,” he calls out. “The one on 5th, you know?”

“Of course I know, but I can’t believeyouknow!”

“I know everything about you, Butterfly, including what you like, love, and hate.”

I smile then because, once again, it feels surprising to have his memory so fully back. “You know I hate it when you don’t tell me what you’re up to then, right?”

“The guys and I just have some things to work out, then I’ll fill you in on everything. I just don’t want you to go crazy stressing about it.”

“Fine,” I mutter, pulling on my wide-leg pants and tucking in my blouse. Today, I feel like looking the part of the art curator-slash-gallery manager. “I’m making pancakes. Want some?”

He pops his head out of the closet. “I’m good, but maybe Sasha does?” Then he winks and continues getting ready for the day.

I walk out to the kitchen and find Sasha sitting at the high-top counter, staring into space.

“You ok?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. Her blonde hair is pulled up high on her head in a top knot, and she’s wearing a pair of my leggings with a Def Leppard shirt I’d brought over in one of my clothing hauls. “It’s weird to not be at the club. Is that terrible?”

“No,” I say, softening to her a little more. “You haven’t had much choice in life.”

She nods, and I see her eyes well up a bit. She looks away before the tear spills over. “So what should we do today? Xavier mentioned he had work to do.”

“First,” I tell her, “we’re making pancakes and bacon. Then we’ll go to my gallery, and we can plan to shop for some of your own clothes.”

She smiles then, a genuine smile. “That sounds…nice.”

We spend the next hour drinking coffee together and eating pancakes. She shares that she’s never actually made pancakes herself. “Well,” I say, “I think you’re going to have a lot of fun firsts in your future.”

We’re leaving the gallery an hour later, Jamison tailing our moves in his creepy, lingering way. I wave when I notice him tucked into a break between the buildings. What a weirdo.

I show Sasha my favorite art studio and tell her about the indie artists who’ve followed their passions long enough to “make it.”

“Have you always liked art?” she asks me when I point out my favorite pieces.

“Yes, always,” I tell her. “Art was something I always turned to when my world felt hazy. Or even when it felt great. It’s like a true expression of whatever feeling you need it to be.”

Sasha nods her head, seeming to think deeply about that.

“I think I could get into this kind of stuff,” she smiles and points to a painting of diamonds scattered across the sky. “It’s breathtaking.”

“I know,” I say, then lead the way out of the studio. We walk together down the city streets, talking about my childhood, what Riley and I did for fun, and what kind of people our parents were when we were growing up.

“I never,” I confess, “thought I would be settling down with someone—especially someone like Xa… your brother,” I say. I smile. “Have you ever fallen for someone?”

“Oh,” she sighs, “that’s never been something I could do.”

“Well,” I say, “never say never.”

Then we began our shopping spree in a Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman style. It’s late by the time we return home, and we find all the guys camped out in Xavier’s living room.

“We’re home,” I call when we walk in.

“I will never get tired of hearing that,” Xavier says, standing and coming to pull me in for a kiss.

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