Page 97 of Desperate Actions

“Well, I mean, my parents are great, but they always treat me like I’m made out of spun glass or something.”

I nod, listening.

“Like when I was a kid, if I had a bad day at school and got a little emotional, they’d try to fix it any way they could. Buy me things. Take me to a show. Tell me I was special. And they never fought in front of me, even when I knew they were having a disagreement.”

I shrug.

“They were just being good parents.”

“I know. And they are.” She sighs. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“You don’t, Pixie. It’s okay to have feelings.”

She smiles a little, but there’s a flicker of something else in her gaze.

Something uncertain.

“A lot of the girls treat me that way, too. Like they think I’m breakable. Or weak. But not you.”

I lift a brow.

“Not me.”

“Why?”

I hold her gaze, my thumb still tracing soft patterns against her hand.

“Because I know you, Aella.”

I brush a stray curl from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

“You're strong. Smart as a whip. And so beautiful, it breaks my heart.”

Her eyes soften, something undeniably tender flashing through them.

She smirks.

“My father might still try to kill you.”

I chuckle, shaking my head.

“He can try.” I grin back at her. “But my dad probably won't like that. And this is his house.”

She laughs, tilting her head back slightly.

Goddamn.

I love that sound.

Love that I can pull her from her anxious thoughts, that I can replace them with something lighter, something that makes her smile.

“You’re probably right. Besides, Mom would be mad.”

I grin, amused by the way she says it so casually, like her mom being mad would be worse than her father attempting murder.

“Yeah? Your mom would get mad if he tried to kill me?”

Aella shrugs, her green eyes twinkling, but there’s a hint of mischief behind them.

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