Page 2 of Lavish
Miles shook his head. “Sunny, chill.”
“I can’t have your father embarrassing my family and ruining things. Mama asked me to help plan everything and you know how much this party means to me.”
“Unlike your family, we don’t worry about how we look.”
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, it’s been like that forever.”
Miles came closer, pinning me against the closet door. He put his hand on my waist, his rough fingers making slow circles that sent shivers down my spine. He slowly licked his lips; his intense gaze had nothing to do with the party or the wine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean.” I didn’t break eye contact with him. “I’ve told you again and again: people in this town look up to your family just like mine. Mama said?—”
Miles groaned and rolled his eyes. “I don’t wanna hear what your mama said right now.”
I chewed on my lip. I didn’t want another fight with him about it. That’s all we ever fought about.
“You should take it seriously. The Kings and Whitmores founded Lush. We can’t lose that power. This is who we are, Miles.”
“We’re more than our last names,” Miles said, getting serious, then he sighed and looked at me.
He let his hand drift down my hip, his thumb brushing the lace. My thighs squeezed together. I gulped.
“Is that why you won’t tell them we’re engaged?” he asked, voice low, almost teasing.
I didn’t answer.
“You’re a King. I’m a Whitmore,” he went on, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “People would be thrilled. Keeping the power in the family, hmm?”
My frown deepened.
“Do you ever take anything seriously?” I snapped, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His smirk faltered—just slightly. But then he tilted his head like he was studying me, deciding whether to play or push.
“Only when you look at me like that,” he said quietly, giving me those puppy dog eyes he knew I couldn’t fight, and I hated how warm my face suddenly felt.
“You play too much.” I hit him, smiling reluctantly.
I wasn’t Laurene, but she had something I wanted, even though she didn’t love—or maybe even like—Conrad Ashbourne.
She wasn’t the forgotten middle child.
Miles didn’t move, but I felt his energy shift. His hand was still on me, but the heat of it now felt different—less possessive, more…distant. Like he already knew the answer, and just needed to hear me choke on it.
“We can fuck in secret but can’t hold hands in public?”
“We’ve been together six months. Who gets engaged that fast?” I still can’t believe I said yes.
“We do,” he said. “It’s us. It’s our business. Who gives a fuck what people say?”
“My family has a tradition?—”
The Kings had been following it since my great-great-grandfather Augustus King founded this town after the Tulsa Massacre.
“That archaic arranged marriage rule? C’mon, times ain’t that desperate, and the average life-span isn’t twenty-five anymore. We can be our own people now. Out of everybody you can break that rule.”
Could I? There were a lot of things within our family I couldn’t change. No matter how much I fought, my rules and boundaries were cemented.
