Page 72 of Ruthless Serenade

Instead of spilling it all out, I just stand there, gaping at him, engulfed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. Seven years of separation, heartache, longing, along with countless sleepless nights spent thinking about him, all culminate in this moment. And now, after all this time, he’s here, thrown back into my life, stirring up memories I thought I’d buried.

"Maron..." I whisper. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

He nods. "Let’s go," he says casually, like we’re picking up a conversation from yesterday.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mindy

As we stroll through the hospital parking lot, I wrap my flimsy cardigan tighter around me.

It’s freezing cold outside. I was too caught up in the chaos to even think about grabbing a coat before I rushed to be with Sharon.

Maron takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders.

"Thanks," I say, feeling the instant relief from the warmth.

God, it feels so good. It’s a small gesture, but no one has looked out for me like this in the past seven years. Frankly, no one ever gave two shits if I was freezing or sweltering.

"We’re here," he announces as we reach his black Escalade.

I immediately recognize the license number. So, it’s true, after all. I knew it was him I saw a few weeks ago. New York High. The parking lot of the ice cream shop. A thought crosses my mind:has he been stalking me?I choose to keep that question to myself. I’ll find out everything soon enough, all in good time.

"Same ride?" I comment.

He shrugs. "They don’t make cars as good as these anymore."

He unlocks the sleek black vehicle with the press of a button, and we slide into the soft, leather interior. He says nothing as we pull out onto the road. I sneak furtive glances at him from the corner of my eye, studying the hard line of his jaw and the shadows dancing across those razor-sharp cheekbones. After all these years, he’s still the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You’ll see," he replies.

Right. Typical Maron. If I had doubts about whether it’s really him, they dissipate in an instant. So, I settle back into the luxurious car seat and let my eyes flutter shut. I don’t push for answers. I’m too exhausted to do so anyway. I just want to enjoy that he’s here with me and that it feels completely natural. Like everything we’ve been through together happened yesterday.

But as we drive through the city, my mind begins to wander. Where the hell has he been all this time? He just let me believe he was dead for the last seven years? And now he just walks back into my life like it’s the most normal thing ever? And how can he stay so calm?

All of a sudden, I feel my emotions surge. I want to yell at him, punch him, and let out all the frustration and pain I’ve been bottling up since he disappeared. By the time we pull into an underground garage beneath a huge skyscraper, there’s a storm raging inside me.

"Let’s go," he says casually, oblivious to my internal storm. He brings the car to a halt and the soft purr of the motor stops.

"I still don’t know where we’re going," I tell him, trying to hide my rising anger. I know it won’t lead to any good if I let it out now. There is a time for everything.

"You need new clothes," he says.

"From here?" I squeak.

"From here." A ghost of a smile plays across his lips. "You can’t be walking around in that glorified tissue paper you call a top."

Okay. This guy is definitely Maron Korolev. Though, I must admit, he’s got a point. But then again, the dumpster-chic aesthetic of my outfit is the least of my problems right now.

We get out of the car, and Maron leads me toward a place that looks like the Taj Mahal of shopping centers. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we just landed in Dubai of all places. I’m eyeing the storefronts and admiring the lavish displays, each one more extravagant than the last. A simple top in one window probably costs more than my entire monthly salary, making me wonder if I’ve stumbled into a parallel universe where fashion reigns supreme and sanity takes a backseat. The opulence of the place is overwhelming.

As soon as we enter the first shop, Maron goes full “Pretty Woman” on me, minus the prostitute backstory. Dresses, shoes, make up - all costing more than my monthly rent - end up in our pile. I resist him; of course, I do, but he’s relentless. Eventually, I give up and allow him to give me the ultimate princess treatment of ultimate princess treatments.

By the time we finish our insane shopping frenzy, I’m pretty sure we’ve left a dent in the market that’ll be talked about for the years to come.

"Thank you, Maron. You really didn’t have to-" I try telling him as we exit the last boutique.

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