Page 40 of Desperate Actions

Brief.

But enough to send me spiraling all over again.

“Use your app, Pixie. We have plenty of time,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate, like we’re the only two people in this place.

I bite my lip, nod.

I almost forgot.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Sammy always knew about my dyslexia.

And unlike others who made me feel less, who made me feel stupid, who made me want to shrink into nothing, Sammy just accepts it.

Like it’s nothing.

Like it’s just another part of who I am.

And that’s just one more thing I love about him.

No judgment.

No impatience.

No frustration.

He’s just so—so him.

And I really do love him, something awful.

That he is standing beside me, strong and tall as an oak, as steadfast as the ground beneath me, is just cake.

This is all just cake.

And I really fucking like cake.

“Would you like to see our collection of rings?” the older woman asks, her face caked in garish makeup, her smile wide and overly eager.

I open my mouth, but before I can even think of a response, Sammy steps in.

“We’ll use these,” he says, voice steady, firm, like there was never any other option.

I watch, stunned, as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of rings—rings he’s clearly been carrying with him.

For how long? Since we got to Vegas? Before that?

He hands them over, and the woman places them on a cheap satin pillow, smoothing the fabric as if it elevates the moment somehow.

I only catch a glimpse of them, but already I know I love them.

They’re white gold or maybe platinum and the smaller ring, mine I am assuming, has stones inlaid in the band.

Green stones. Too light to be emeralds.

I want to pinch myself, but instead I look around the room.

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