Page 152 of Beautiful Trauma
“Do you not trust me on the open road?”
“I do.”
“Then let me drive.”
I wanted to argue that on our way out of the city, we could be in danger and would need someone familiar with handling the car. But considering the excitement flashing in her eyes, I couldn’t tell her no.
When I tossed the key fob at her, she caught it. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “She’s all yours.”
With a squeal, Mila ran to the driver’s side. After opening the door, she slipped onto the seat. “Oh my God, this leather is to die for.”
Shaking my head, I went around to get in the passenger side. Everything we needed was packed into the SUV the bodyguards would be driving. After plugging in the address in the GPS, I said, “Let’s go.”
After cranking up, Mila gunned the engine. “Now this is a sweet ride.”
She slid the gear into drive, and we roared out of the driveway. “Do I need to remind you that there are speed limits around here?” I teased.
“Who could abide by speed limits in this car?
“We could.”
“But you have cops and judges in your pockets.”
“That doesn’t mean we need to flaunt it.”
“Fine. I’ll ease up until we’re out of the city.”
True to her word, Mila obeyed the speed limits until we got on the interstate. I had to give her credit that she was good at maneuvering the car. “Do you have a lot of experience driving sports cars?”
She laughed. “When Dima turned sixteen, he used to steal some of Father’s cars to go joy riding. He would take me from time to time. I ended up learning to drive on some ridiculously expensive cars.”
“Dima sounds like Callum and Dare. They were always doing shit like stealing our Da’s cars. “
Whatever happiness Mila had been experiencing was dampened with the mention of Dima. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She sighed. “What’s there to say that hasn’t been said?”
“How you’re feeling.”
With a scowl, Mila replied, “I’m so tired of people asking me that.”
“It’s only because we care.”
An apologetic look came over her face. “I know. It’s just I’m tired of having to worry people.” She tore her gaze from the road. “Especially you.”
“I love you, Mila. I can’t help but worry about you.”
“You deserve better.”
“No that bullshit again,” I gritted out.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. The idea that you’re not good enough for me because of your trauma? Yeah, it’s bullshit. I don’t know what I need to do to get it through your head that it is.”
“It’s not bullshit to me,” she said softly.
