Page 69 of The Misfit

I don’t tell her I notice everything about her now. Don’t tell her how deep under my skin she’s gotten. Don’t tell her that none of this feels fake anymore.

Instead, I just nod and start counting tiles while she gathers up the dress and gloves.

Both of us pretend this is normal.

Both of us are lying.

Of course she’s perfect in the dress, and I can’t stop looking at her. She changes back, and we spend the day lying around her bedroom, me watching her while she studies and easing her panic when it arises about the event. I wish I didn’t have to bring her tonight. It feels too fast when she announces we have to get ready.

I help her prepare, ignoring the way my body responds to every flash of her milky-white skin. The memory of the taste of her on my tongue. I don’t even try to resist planting a kiss where her neck meets her shoulder. Don’t even fucking try.

When we leave, her parents wait by the door, phones in hand, to take pictures like it’s prom. She’s embarrassed, but I hold her beside me proudly.

We spend the car ride in silence, her gloves whispering against one another when she clenches her hands instead of squeaking.

“No need to be nervous. I’ll be there with you every step of the way,” I remind her.

“I know. I trust you.” She smiles over at me, a few of the worry lines disappearing from her face. The Grand Hotel looms before us, all marble columns and old money pretension. I feel Salem tense beside me in the car.

“Remember,” I murmur, “we have a private entrance. And the quiet room I showed you on the hotel layout is just three rights and two lefts from the ballroom. Thirty-seven steps exactly.”

She nods, but her breathing has gone shallow. The burgundy silk of her dress shifts like wine in the moonlight as she starts to count.

“Wait.” I reach over, careful not to wrinkle her dress or disturb her gloves. “Let me?”

Another tiny nod.

“One diamond in each marble tile,” I start, giving her something to focus on. “Two doormen at the entrance. Three separate exits I’ve mapped out. Four sealed water bottles waiting in our private area. Five minutes minimum for any social interaction before we can excuse ourselves.”

Her breathing steadies as I continue, and I pretend not to notice how perfectly her hand fits in mine.

The valet opens her door, and I’m around the car before he can offer her his hand. She takes mine instead, silk against skin, and we both ignore the spark that jumps between us.

“Ready?” I ask, though I’m not sure which of us I’m really asking.

“No,” she whispers, then straightens her spine. “But I’m with you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. She trusts me. Actually trusts me to keep her safe in this shark tank of society vultures and family expectations.

We make it through the private entrance without incident, the hotel staff maintaining perfect distance as instructed. I’m hyper aware of every person, every potential threat to Salem’s peace of mind. She stays close to my side, head high despite her anxiety.

And then my mother appears.

“Darling!” Katherine Sterling descends upon us like a perfectly coiffed storm front. Her eyes scan Salem from head to toe, cataloging every detail. “And this must be?—”

“Salem Masters,” I cut in before she can say anything cruel. “My girlfriend.”

The word feels simultaneously wrong and right. Not enough and too much.

“Charmed.” Mother’s smile is all teeth. “That dress is … unexpected. Very bold choice.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sterling.” Salem’s voice is soft but steady. “Lee has excellent taste.”

Mother’s eyebrows lift slightly at the implicit meaning—that I chose the dress, that I know what suits Salem, that we’re close enough for such intimacy.

“Indeed.” Her gaze shifts between us. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Everyone is simply dying to meet the woman who’s finally captured my son’s attention.”

She glides away before I can respond, but I feel Salem trembling slightly against me.

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