Page 26 of Breaking Rules

The more timeI spend in Miller’s company, the less I understand what Bella is doing with him. I swear, there are no two people on Earth more different than they are, andfuck—she’s so much more than he deserves.

“Damn, this cheesecake is perfection.” Meghan slumps back in her chair, putting her palm on her stomach. “I’m full.”

“My girlfriend is an incredible cook.” Miller covers Bella’s hand with his, an arrogant smirk on his face. It’s not the first time tonight he’s acted as if the compliments on her delicious food belong to him too. It’s almost like she doesn’t exist separately from him, like any of her achievements instantly become his.

“Let’s make a toast.” Garcia holds up his rocks glass. “To Isabella. This dinner is a ten out of ten.”

“To Isabella.” We all raise our glasses, and as we sip our drinks, a pleasant silence lingers.

“That’s my girl.” Miller sets his glass down and plants a kiss on Bella’s cheek. Her face is an emotionless mask, her body rigid as he pulls away with his chest puffed out. “I knew this dinner would be a total success.”

I scoff. “You realize you’ve taken credit for everything your girlfriend did tonight, right? All you did was invite us.”

Miller’s jaw ticks, and he rolls his lips together, holding my gaze.

“Still, itwasa great idea,” I add. The last thing I need is for him to think I have a problem with him.

“Thanks, Walker.” He forces a smile before he changes the subject. “Kennedy,” he says to the woman Garcia brought with him, “what do you do for a living?”

Wine glass in hand, she glances at Garcia. “I work in marketing.” Her red curls cascade down her shoulders as she tips her head back and downs the rest of her drink. When she straightens again, she scans the table, her eyebrows knitted together. “Is there more wine?”

“There should be a bottle in the kitchen.” Miller turns to Bella. “Can you refill Kennedy’s glass, baby?”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Kennedy pats at her lips with her napkin. “I can drink whiskey like everyone else.”

“Isabella doesn’t mind.” Miller drapes his hand over his girlfriend’s shoulder and pulls her to him. “Please, baby.”

Meghan and Garcia, who sit on either side of me, shift in their seats, and the tension in the room thickens.

Bella’s chest rises and falls rapidly, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. The question flashes in my head again: Why the hell does she stay with him?

“Sure.” Face blank, she pushes herself away from the table, dislodging Miller’s arm in the process.

When she returns with the bottle, we’re all silent.

“Thank you so much,” Kennedy mutters, looking down at the table as Bella refills her glass.

When she turns in her chair with an apologetic smile on her face, her elbow connects with Bella’s hand, causing the wine bottle to tilt, and its contents spill down the front of Bella’s white dress.

“Oh my God!” Kennedy jumps to her feet, her mouth open and her hand pressed to her breastbone. “Isabella, I’m so sorry. I didn’t?—”

“It’s fine,” Bella says in a shaky voice. She forces a wobbly smile onto her face as she sets the bottle on the table and bolts from the room.

Meghan stands and looks at Miller. I swear, if looks could kill, he would be bleeding out on the hardwood floor right now. “Where do you keep your mop?”

“Isabella made this mess; she?—”

“Jake. Let your girlfriend change her clothes. Please,” she hisses, her glare never leaving him.

“Should be in the laundry room.” With a grunt, he stands and follows Meghan to the kitchen.

Beside me, Garcia is talking to Kennedy in a soothing tone while she cries, distraught over the incident. They don’t even glance my way as I stride out of the room. I head toward the guest bathroom, since she didn’t dart up the stairs when she left. When I find the door slightly ajar and the light on, relief settles over me. Inside, Bella stands in front of the mirror, her hands on either side of the sink and the water running.

I meant what I said at my place—I want to be her friend. When she confronted me, it hit me that making her uncomfortable just for the sake of proving myself right isn’t worth it. Yes, she can stand up for herself. I don’t need to creep her out with my flirting to make a point. If I want her help, I need her to trust me.

I close the door behind me, and she meets my eye in the mirror. No tears, no trembling lips. She just stands there, breathing heavily.

“Miller was an asshole,” I say.

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