Page 117 of Masks and Mishaps

Instead, she undoes the buttons on my shirt.

Her fingertips skim my abdomen, tracing the defined lines until her eyes connect with mine. “Weston saw these,” she explains. “When he saw you shirtless at the party, he recognized your tattoos from my camming page.”

“Damn.” I bite down and clench my teeth, releasing a frustrated exhalation. “God damn it.Are you mad at me?”

She’s still tracing the lines of my X tattoo. “To be honest, I should have known your insatiable urge to intimidate him with your abs would be our downfall.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t,” she warns, tapping her fingertip against my lips. “You’re chaos embodied, and I’ve known it since day one. I wouldn’t have you any other way. Do you understand me?”

I nod.

Her hand travels to my thigh. “I knew you were downplaying your tattoos when you said they were drunken whims. Underestimation is your thing—and mine too. But you wouldn’t give just anything a place on your body forever.” She moves her finger over the roots of the treehouse. “This one is for you. It’s the place where you felt safest.” A smile emerges on her lips. “Knowing how sacred your treehouse is, I should feel bad about getting off on this tattoo.”

“Don’t. If it were sacred, I wouldn’t have fisted you in it.”

Now Essie laughs fully. “Maybe that makes it the most sacred place of all.”

“Definitely,” I agree.

Her hand moves to the tattoo on my lower right side. “This one is for Lander and Everett,” she continues, streaking her finger over the coordinates above my scar. “It’s Lander’s home in St. Michaels.”

“When I was eighteen, I had an emergency appendectomy on the day we were supposed to go on a graduation trip to Rome. They skipped the trip to stay with me—didn’t even hesitate. Lander drove us to St. Michaels, and we spent the week while I recovered.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. They love you so much, Dalt.” She flattens her hand over the tattoo. “I’m glad you’ve always had them.”

“I feel the same about Valeria and Cora when it comes to you.”

Essie nods in understanding before her hand goes to the flowers on my ribs. “This one is for your mom. It took me a while to solve, but when we were at the party, Everett was telling me the names of the plants in the backyard and mentioned how many hawthorn trees there are. Your mother was Alyssa Hawthorn before she married Frank. These are hawthorn flowers.”

“And she’sourmom,” I reply—and Essie smiles.

“And lastly, this one.” Her fingertip taps the X on my heart. “This one is for me.”

She’s right.

“The night our parents got engaged, we sat there.” She glances at my living room. “You drank a lot. I watched. Then, you got sleepy, so I brought you back to your room and tucked you in. I figured you were asleep, so I kissed you—” She traces the two lines inked into my chest. “—right here. I didn’t know you were awake. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I would have told you I loved you that night.”

Essie takes a deep breath. “X marks the spot?”

“X for Emerald X,” I respond, speaking softly.

Essie exhales. Her eyes have gone glossy. Before I can speak, she kisses my tattoo, my collarbone, my neck—anything she can reach. Her mouth eventually finds mine, and after the purest and most tender kiss of my life, her lips—those lips I waited two years to kiss—utter the words, “I love you, Dalton Cavendish.”

I close my eyes, letting the words sink in. I’ve waited so long to hear her say them. Even when I knew, even when I inherently understood how Essie felt, I wanted the words. I wanted to memorize them like I memorize everything I hear.

I love you, Dalton Cavendish.

“I love you deeply, profoundly, and far beyond what I knew was possible,” she continues. “I’m going to uncuff you, but before I do, I’m going to promise you Iwilldestroy Weston’s life. I know the full-time offer isn’t happening, and I’m fine. I’m still going to make him so pathetically sorry he ever crossed paths with me. Remember that when I uncuff you.”

It takes me a beat to realize my jaw has lowered.

Everything about Essie impresses me, but one things stands out. It’s not her unerring loyalty. It’s not how unbelievably talented she is at coding, and banking, and camming—and all these things I didn’t know a single person could be good at. It’s not her work ethic, or ambition, or her unflappability. It’s not even that she’s indescribably gorgeous.

It’s that she’s so goddamn ruthless. She may even scare me a little—and god, I respect it.

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