Page 125 of Fixing to Be Mine

When we finish, we stay tangled in the sheets, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. I don’t open my eyes right away. I want to memorize this—his weight over mine, the way he whispers my name like it’s not borrowed or broken.

Eventually, he shifts onto his back, pulling me with him until I’m sprawled across his chest.

“You ready for today?” he asks, fingers combing gently through my hair.

“I am now,” I whisper.

His arms wrap tighter around me. “That’s my girl. You got this.”

The quiet doesn’t last.

It never does here.

Colt eventually rolls out of bed to shower. I hear the water turn on and the soft thud of his footsteps across the tile. I stay in bed a little longer, watching the sunlight stretch higher across the skyline. My fingers trail across the crease in the sheets where his body was.

The clock ticks closer toward eight, and my reality returns.

There’s a version of me that wants to stay in bed with him all day, hiding beneath these soft sheets with his naked body. However, that version can’t exist until I finish what I came here to do. In an hour, I will relinquish my responsibilities and start living my life on my terms. That thought gives me the energy to get out of bed.

I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand, pulling on a robe from the hook by the closet.

Colt steps out of the bathroom a minute later, towel around his waist, hair damp and tousled. He crosses the space without hesitation.

“You planning a coup?” he asks, voice teasing enough to pull me out of my head.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding. “That’s one word for it.”

He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “You don’t have to burn the whole city down in one day.”

“Only the part that has its hold on me.”

He studies me for a long beat, then nods once. “You’re a firecracker, darlin’.”

“You know it,” I tell him, moving inside my closet. “This is almost over.”

The lights come on automatically, spilling warm white across rows of silk, cashmere, structured wool, and shoes lined up like soldiers. It’s massive. Every inch of space is curated for the season. Neutrals up front. Color-coded accents. Clutches arranged by designer. The whole room smells faintly of my favorite perfume.

I stand there for a second, taking it in.

There was a time when I would walk into this space and transform into someone powerful. Untouchable. Like I could become whatever the room demanded by picking the right pair of heels.

Now?

It’s a costume department. My wedding dress should be hung here to complete the show.

I run my fingers along the hem of a blazer I once wore to a board meeting in Dubai. It’s flawless. Tailored to the inch. And completely irrelevant to the woman I’ve become.

I move past it. Past the towering heels and the pristine whites. My fingers brush across the silk dresses that hug my body and reveal all my secrets. None of them are right.

Then I see it—tucked between a few older pieces. A tailored black suit with slim-cut pants and a fitted jacket. Clean. Sleek. With an edge. I pull it out and grab a dark charcoal tank to go underneath. There are no frills for this career funeral.

When I step out of the closet, Colt is waiting by the window, already dressed, adjusting the cuffs of his new shirt. He turns when he hears me, and his eyes drag over me.

“That’ll do, babe,” he says, voice proud. “Damn. Now I know why you drink your coffee black.”

I smirk, grabbing a pair of dark sunglasses off the console and sliding them onto my head. “I guess it’s go time.”

We take the elevator down and slip out through the private exit, where a car is waiting for us. Colt stays close, his presence behind me. When we step onto the main sidewalk, the noise finds us immediately.

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