Page 117 of Never Fall for an Angel

He can see right through me, but he doesn’t argue it.

“We’ll just get some stuff so you can feel like you again.”

“I already feel like me.” It’s a lie. I don’t even know whomeis anymore.

Christian calls my bluff on this one, shooting me a look that says as much.

“What are you worried about?” His tone softens, and when I look away, the asshole grips my chin and forces my gaze back to his.

“Nothing.”

Another lie.

Why can’t I stop lying?

“You’re safe, Mila,” he says, his tone conveying he’ll make sure of it. “I’ve checked this place out already.”

I saw my bottom lip between my teeth, looking back to the front of the store.

I haven’t been in a clothing store since before the attack.

“I have to try on clothes,” I admit finally on a breath, and it feels like a crater opens up in the center of my chest, stealing all the oxygen in my lungs.

“You will.”

He doesn’t get it. Tears sting in the backs of my eyes, and I shake my head, still looking at the front of the store. A few women walk in while I’m watching, and my throat threatens to close.

They look so . . . happy.

“Your scars are your biggest strength, little devil.” I turn to look at Christian just as he reaches up, catching the lone tear that trails down my cheek. Of course, he would know this is about the scars. Why wouldn’t he? He knows everything. “Use them.”

I stare at him for a beat, staring into his deep blue ocean eyes. Eyes I could look at for hours.

“I don’t know how,” I whisper, and it feels like dropping a weight off my chest to finally say that out loud.

“Would it make you feel better if I waited in the car? Let you go in alone.”

I would rather chew off each of my toenails individually.

“No-please—”

He silences me by pressing a finger to my lips.

“Then, I’ll be right there with you.”

Leaning across the center console, his hand slips around the back of my head, and he presses his lips to my forehead. It’s the most gentle he’s ever been, and the crack in my heart that was already bleeding for him widens to a fissure.

“Come on. We’ve got a whole day planned.”

Christian leads me out of the car and into the store, taking my hand in his when we enter. It’s loud and bright, full of colors and women laughing as they sort through clothes. Looking over at the mountain of a man beside me, the scar on his face, and the dangerous look in his eyes, I almost laugh. I would if I weren’t so damned nervous.

Christian doesnotbelong here.

“How can we help you?” a young woman asks Christian, completely ignoring me.

That’s fine. I’m too busy having an existential crisis over looking at pants.

“We’re fine. Just looking.”

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