Page 119 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Pick out a dress.”

My throat tightens, and I continue to stand there and stare at him.

Finally, he turns over his shoulder, cocking a brow at me.

“Why?”

“Because you need one.”

“For what?”

His gaze narrows.

“You’ll see.”

I don’t know if I like the sound of that.

“What kind of dress?”

He shrugs, looking back at the wall. Then, something catches his eye, and he pulls it from the rack. It’s a butter yellow sundress with little blue and white flowers on it.

“This.”

It’s beautiful. But . . . I haven’t worn a dress in over a year.

“Are you sure?”

He nods to the dressing rooms. “Go try it on.”

He takes the basket from my hands and hands me the dress, which he somehow managed to pick out in the perfect size.

It’s odd . . . being public with Christian. We’ve been living together up at the cottage for nearly a month now. Basically, husband and wife who almost hate each other with a really shitty sex life. But being in public almost seemstoodomestic. Like at any second, I’ll turn around, and it will all be gone.

Quietly, I make my way into a dressing room, closing the curtain tight behind me. Christian waits outside, and my cheeks flame, just knowing that he knows I’m changing in here.

See, I told you. Too domestic.

Slipping my clothes off, they feel tattered and trashy compared to all the new clothes we’ll be buying today. Not that I don’t love them. My old clothes have seen shit. They’ve lived a life on the run. Sleeping in busted motel rooms and dirty bus stations.

These new clothes could never compare.

“Everything okay?” Christian asks after five minutes.

No. Everything is not okay.

I’m stuck staring at my reflection in the mirror. This is the first time I’m really seeing myself in months. I’ve gotten thinner. My hair isn’t as shiny as it used to be. My curls are flat, and my skin is pale.

I look like death’s little sister with an affinity for brightly colored clothes.

Tears pool in my eyes, and it only takes a second before my entire emotional barrier crumbles around me.

Sinking to the carpeted floor, I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face in my hands.

This sucks. It all sucks.

“Mila, I’m coming in.”

“Don—”

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